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FAMOUS  WOMEN   OF  THE   FRENCH   COURT. 

From  the  French  of  Imbert  de  Saint-Amand. 

Each  with  Portrait,   12mo,  $1.25. 
Three  Volumes  on  Marie  Antoinette. 

MARIE   ANTOINETTE   AND   THE   END   OF  THE   OLD    REGIME. 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE   AT  THE  TUILERIES. 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  THE   DOWNFALL  OF   ROYALTY. 

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CITIZENESS    BONAPARTE. 

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THE   HAPPY    DAYS   OF   MARIE   LOUISE. 

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MARIE   LOUISE,  THE   RETURN    FROM    ELBA   AND  THE   HUNDRED    DAYS. 


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MARIK   ANTOINKTTK   AND    HKR    THREE   CHILDREN. 


Marie  Antoinette 


AT   THE   TUILERIES 


1 789- 1 79 1 


BY 


IMBERT    DE    S  AI  NT-A  M  A  ND;  A'.'''' 


ELIZABETH   GILBERT   MARTIN 


WITH  PORTRAIT 


NEW   YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

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BY  CHARLES  SCRIiJl^ER'S  ^ONS. 


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CONTENTS. 


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FIRST  PART. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  Installation  at  the  Tlileries 1 

II.     A  Visit  from  the  National  Assembly 10 

III.  Paris  at  the  Close  of  1789 18 

IV,  The  Execution  of  the  Marquis  de  Favras 26 

V.     The  Dauphin  and  Madame  Royale 33 

VI.     The  Royal  Family  at  Saint  Cloud 41 

VII.     Marie  Antoinette's  Interview  with  Mirareau.  . .  48 

VIII.     The  Festival  of  the  Federation 58 

IX.    Mirabeau's  Double  Role 71 

X.     The  Departure  of  the  King's  Aunts 79 

XI.     The  Knights  of  the   Poniard 87 

XII.     The  Death  of  Mirabeau. 92 

XIII.  The  Religious  Question 103 

XIV.  The  Holy  Week  of  1791 112 

SECOND   PART. 

THE   VARENNES  JOURNEY. 

I.     Preparations  for  Flight 122 

II.     June  Twentieth,   1791 131 

III.  The  Departure 137 

IV.  June  Twentieth,  1791,  in  Paris 144 

V.     The  Journey 150 

VI.     The  Arrest 159 


iv  COI^  TENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

VII.  The  Night  at  Varennes 107 

VIII.  The  Departure  from  Varennes 176 

IX.  The  Return 183 

X.  Marie  Antoinette  and  Barnave 189 

XL  Potion's  Account 198 

XII.  The  Return  to  the  Tuileries 210 

THIRD   PART, 

THE  CLOSE  OF  1791. 

I.     The  Captivity  in  the  Tuileries 222 

11.     Paris  during  the  Suspension  of  Royalty 231 

IIL     The  Emigration 242 

IV.    Acceptance  of  the  Constitution 253 

V.  Marie  Antoinette's  Last  Evenings  at  the  Theatre,  264 

VL    The  Duke  of  Orleans  in  1791 272 

VII.  The  Return  of  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  to  the 

Tuileries 282 


Marie   Antoinette 

AT   THE   TUILERIES 
1789-1791 


FIRST  PART. 


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THE  INSTALLATION   AT   THE  TUILERIES. 

THE  drama  of  the  Tuileries  begins.  It  is  the 
sixth  of  October,  1789.  The  hour  is  ten  in  the 
evening.  After  a  clay  of  indescribable  suffering,  the 
royal  family,  who  left  Versailles  at  one  in  the  after- 
noon, had  entered  the  H6tel  de  Ville  at  Paris  toward 
nine  o'clock.  "  It  is  always  with  pleasure  and  Avith 
confidence,"  Louis  XVI.  had  said,  "  that  I  find  my- 
self amidst  the  inhabitants  of  my  good  city  of  Paris." 
In  repeating  the  King's  discourse,  the  mayor,  Bailly, 
had  forgotten  the  words  "with  confidence."  The 
Queen  instantly  recalled  them.  "  Gentlemen,"  Avent 
on  Bailly,  "you  are  more  fortunate  than  if  I  had 
said  it  myself."  Then  Louis  XVI.  and  his  family 
returned  to  the  Tuileries.  It  was  not  without  hes- 
itation and  sadness  that  they  entered.  The  palace 
seemed  all  the  more  sombre  by  reason  of  the  con- 
trast between  its  black  facade  and  the  illumina- 
tions in  the  neighboring  streets.  Uninhabited  since 
the    majority  of   Louis  XV.,  it  was  gloomy,  out  of 

1 


MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 


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repair,   unfurnisliecl,  and  undecorated.      The    locks 
closed  badly.     The  aspect  was  bleak,  disastrous. 

On  the  morning  of  October  7  the  Queen  awakes 
in  the  Tuileries.  What  things  had  happened,  what 
tragedies,  what  emotions  within  twenty-four  hours  ! 
'Ii>  it  a  nightmare?  Is  it  reality?  Yesterday  it  was 
still  the  city  of  the  Sun-King,  the  splendid  palace  of 
;  iVer&[j,i]les.  ,  This  mcrninsf  it  is  the  Tuileries,  forbid- 
'  dihg  as  a  prison.  V/hat  formidable  cries  are  these, 
whose  menacing  echoes  are  still  resounding  in  the 
sovereign's  ears  ?  What  are  these  lugubrious  and 
bloody  sights  which  she  cannot  banish  from  her 
eyes, — the  bands  of  pikemen,  the  hideous  prostitutes 
of  the  galleries  of  the  Palais  Royal,  the  infernal 
viragoes  of  the  Revolution,  the  livid  heads  of  the 
hapless,  decapitated  body-guards?  Will  these  cries 
of  hatred  and  assassination,  these  oaths,  these  blas- 
phemies, these  insults,  cease  at  last?  Those  re- 
ports of  musketry,  that  storm  of  invectives  and 
ferocious  jests  —  can  it  be  that  they  will  not 
begin  anew  ?  Tliis  residence  where  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, after  a  short  and  unquiet  slumber,  re-opens 
her  eyes  to  the  light  —  is  it  a  palace  or  a  dun- 
geon ?  What  men  are  these  who  stand  about  the 
royal  chamber?  Are  they  servants,  or  jailers,  or 
assassins  ?  These  ragged  women  who  crowd  beneath 
the  windows  —  what  are  they  going  to  say  ?  what  are 
they  going  to  do  ?  Will  they  force  the  chamber 
doors  to-day  as  they  did  yesterday,  and  riddle  with 
pike   and  sabre   thrusts   the   bed   of   the  Queen    of 


THE  IN  STALL  ATIOy. 


France,  the  daughter  of  ]\Iaria  Theresa  ?  What  has 
befallen  her?  What  can  the  future  have  in  store? 
What  may  be  hoped  ?  what  feared  ?  How  shall  she 
hide  the  sentiments  of  indignation  and  sacred  anger, 
which  burst  from  a  noble  heart?  What  figure  can 
she  make  in  presence  of  this  riotous  upheaval?  How 
support  the  supreme  humiliations  which  strike  at  the 
lineage  of  Saint  Louis,  of  Henri  IV.,  and  Louis  XIV.  ? 
The  atmosphere  is  overcharged  with  storms.  Doom 
weighs  heavily  on  tliis  sinister  palace  which,  alas ! 
was  to  be  merely  the  vestibule  of  the  scaffold.  Marie 
Antoinette  feels  herself  surrounded  by  furies.  One 
might  say  that  from  every  window,  from  every  side 
of  the  wall,  from  behind  each  piece  of  furniture, 
poniards  were  aimed  at  the  august  victim.  The  most 
intrepid  woman  would  tremble.  Oh !  what  a  morn- 
ing !  what  an  awakening  ! 

And  yet  the  rays  of  hope  were  here  and  there  to 
shine  through  this  overclouded  sky.  The  presence 
of  the  King  and  his  family  in  the  capital  produced  a 
certain  cessation  of  the  storm.  The  bakers'  shops 
were  no  longer  besieged;  there  was  sufficient  food. 
The  people  thronged  towards  the  Tuileries.  The 
avenues,  the  courtyards,  the  gardens,  were  encum- 
bered by  the  crowd.  In  the  morning  of  October  7, 
the  same  women,  who,  astride  the  cannons,  had  yester- 
day surrounded  the  carriage  of  the  captive  royal 
family  with  threats  and  insults,  came  underneath  the 
Queen's  windows,  demanding  to  present  their  homage. 
Marie  Antoinette  showed  herself  to  the  crowd.     As 


MAEIJE  ANTOINETTE. 


her  bonnet  partially  sliacled  lier  face,  she  was  besought 
to  remove  it,  that  she  might  be  better  seen.  She 
granted  the  request.  Royalty  was  no  longer  more 
than  a  plaything,  with  which  the  peoj)le  amused 
themselves  before  breaking  it.  The  women  who  yes- 
terday hung  on  to  the  steps  of  the  royal  carriage, 
clung  fast  to  its  doors,  and  leaned  over  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, trying  to  touch  her,  to  soil  her  with  their 
breath,  were  now  in  parley  with  her. 

"  Send  away  from  you,"  said  one,  "  all  these  cour- 
tiers who  ruin  kings.  Love  the  inhabitants  of  your 
good  city." 

"  I  loved  them  at  Versailles,"  replied  the  Queen ; 
"  I  will  love  them  just  the  same  at  Paris." 

"  Yes,  yes,  "  said  another ;  "  but  on  the  fourteenth 
of  July  you  v/anted  to  besiege  the  city  and  have  it 
bombarded." 

"You  were  told  so,"  answered  the  Queen,  "and 
you  believed  it.  It  was  that  which  caused  the  woes 
of  the  people  and  of  the  best  of  kings." 

A  third  woman  addressed  the  sovereign  in  Ger- 
man. 

"  German !  "  said  Marie  Antoinette ;  "I  no  longer 
understand  it.  I  have  become  so  thorough  a  French- 
woman that  I  have  even  forgotten  my  mother- 
tongue." 

There  was  a  burst  of  applause.  The  women  asked 
the  Queen  for  the  flowers  and  ribbons  on  her  bonnet. 
She  unfastened  them  herself  and  gave  them  away. 
The  throng  cried,  "  Long  live  our  good  Queen  ! " 


THE  INSTALLATION. 


While  the  courtyards  and  the  garden  of  the  Tuile- 
ries  were  resounding  with  cheers,  the  body-guards, 
pale,  drooping,  and  bearing  still  the  marks  of  the 
distress  they  had  endured  the  previous  evening,  were 
making  the  rounds  of  the  public  promenades,  under 
the  escort  of  the  National  Guards,  yesterday  their 
victors,  to-day  their  comrades.  They  were  received 
with  sympathy  on  all  sides.  One  would  have  said 
the  reconciliation  was  complete. 

Throughout  the  day  numberless  deputations  visited 
the  King.  Louis  XVI.,  always  an  optimist,  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  totally  the  violence  of  the  day  be- 
fore. His  courtiers  were  far  from  sharing  his  serenity. 
Etiquette  was  still  maintained,  but  the  gentlemen 
attached  to  his  service  fulfilled  their  duties  sadly. 
The  perpetual  supervision  of  M.  de  Lafayette ;  the 
presence  of  the  National  Guards,  those  soldiers  of 
the  Revolution ;  the  absence  of  the  body-guards, 
those  soldiers  of  fidelity ;  the  invasion  of  the  sanctu- 
ary of  monarchy  by  a  crowd  of  enemies  or  intruders ; 
the  gradual  diminution  of  the  state  indispensable  to 
the  prestige  of  royalty ;  the  sadness  of  that  fair  and 
good  Queen  whose  eyes  were  reddened  by  incessant 
tears;  the  progress  of  the  revolutionary  movement 
which  menaced  the  liberty,  the  possessions,  and  the 
life  of  the  French  nobility,  —  all  this  struck  unfeigned 
consternation  to  the  hearts  of  the  King's  attendants. 

Many  had  already  emigrated;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  was  one  woman  who,  at  the  first  mention 
of   danger,  had  hastened  to  the  post  of   honor   and 


6  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

devotion.  It  was  the  Princess  de  Lamballe.  At  nine 
in  the  evening  of  October  7  she  was  sitting  tranquilly 
with  her  father-in-law,  the  Duke  de  Penthievre,  in  the 
castle  of  Eu,  when  a  courier  arrived  at  full  speed, 
bringing  the  news  of  what  had  passed  at  Versailles 
during  the  last  two  days.  "  O  j)apa,"  cried  the  Prin- 
cess, "  what  horrible  events  !  I  must  go  at  once."  At 
midnight,  in  frightful  weather  and  profound  dark- 
ness, Madame  de  Lamballe  left  the  castle  of  Eu,  to 
repair  in  all  haste  to  the  Queen  at  Paris.  She  arrived 
there  during  the  night  of  October  8,  and  took  up  her 
quarters  on  the  ground-floor  of  the  Pavilion  of  Flora. 
In  her  capacity  as  superintendent,  she  gave  several 
soirees  there,  at  some  of  which  Marie  Antoinette 
made  her  appearance.  But  as  the  Queen  speedily 
became  convinced  that  her  position  no  longer  per- 
mitted her  attendance  at  large  receptions,  she  re- 
mained in  her  own  apartments,  reading,  praying, 
sewing,  and  supervising  the  education  of  her  chil- 
dren. 

Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  to  the  Abbd  de  Lubersac 
on  October  16 :  "  The  Queen,  who  has  had  incredible 
courage,  begins  to  be  in  better  favor  with  the  people. 
I  hope  that  in  time,  and  by  unremitting  prudence, 
we  may  regain  the  love  of  the  Parisians,  who  have 
merely  been  deceived.  But,  sir,  the  j)eople  of  Ver- 
sailles I  Have  you  ever  seen  more  frightful  ingrati- 
tude ?  No  ;  I  think  that  Heaven  in  wrath  peopled 
that  city  with  monsters  out  of  hell.  How  long  it 
will  take  to  make  them  recognize   their  injustice ! 


THE  INSTALLATION. 


And  if  I  were  king,  how  long  it  would  take  me  to 
believe  in  their  repentance !  What  ingrates  toward 
an  honest  man !  Would  you  believe,  sir,  that  all  our 
misfortunes,  far  from  bringing  me  back  to  God,  give 
me  a  veritable  disgust  for  all  that  relates  to  prayer? 
Beg  of  Heaven  for  me  the  grace  not  to  abandon 
everything.  .  .  .  Ask  also  that  the  reverses  of  France 
may  recall  to  a  better  mind  those  who  have  contrib- 
uted to  them  by  their  irreligion." 

During  several  days  people  continued  to  obstruct 
the  courtyards  of  the  Tuileries.  Their  indiscretion 
was  carried  to  such  a  point  that  several  market- 
women  ventured  to  climb  into  the  apartment  of  Ma- 
dame Elisabeth,  who  had  rooms  on  the  ground-floor 
of  the  Pavilion  of  Flora,  on  the  side  next  the  court- 
yard. The  Princess  was  obliged  to  quit  this  apart- 
ment, and  install  herself  on  the  first  floor,  in  order 
to  be  sheltered  from  importunate  glances  and  the 
invasions  of  the  fishwomen. 

People  who  had  been  hired  by  the  party  of  disor- 
der came  every  instant  to  make  outrageous  and  in- 
decent remarks  beneath  the  windows  of  the  chateau. 
The  revolutionists,  in  order  to  insult  more  deeply 
the  majesty  of  the  crown,  sent  men  belonging  to  the 
dregs  of  the  people  to  the  King  himself,  under  the 
title  of  delegates.  The  abuse  was  so  great,  that  one 
of  the  Ministers  proposed  to  forbid  the  entrance  of 
such  deputations  into  the  palace.  "No,"  said  the 
unfortunate  monarch ;  "  they  may  present  them- 
selves ;   we  shall  have  courage  to  listen  to  them." 


8  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


One  day  when  these  pretended  delegates  were  ha- 
ranguing Louis  XVI.,  one  of  them  dared  to  accuse 
the  Queen,  who  was  present,  in  most  offensive  terms. 
'^  You  mistake,"  said  the  King,  gently  ;  "  the  Queen 
and  I  have  not  the  intentions  with  which  we  are  cred- 
ited. We  act  in  concert  for  your  common  welfare." 
When  the  deputation  retired,  Marie  Antoinette  fell 
to  weeping. 

Augeard,  her  private  secretary,  gives  an  account  in 
his  very  curious  Memoirs,  of  a  conversation  he  had  with 
her  soon  after  the  days  of  October :  "  Your  Majesty 
is  a  prisoner."  —  "  My  God !  what  are  you  saying  to 
me?"  "Madame,  it  is  most  true.  From  the  time 
when  Your  Majesty  ceased  to  have  a  guard  of  honor, 
you  were  a  prisoner."  —  "  These  men  here,  I  contend, 
are  more  attentive  than  our  guards."  "  The  atten- 
tion of  jailers.  I  will  offer  you  no  other  proof  of  it, 
Madame,  than  to  remind  you  of  the  precaution  you 
have  taken  to  see  whether  any  one  is  listening  at  the 
doors.  Would  you  have  taken  it  with  your  guards?" 
—  "But  what  must  be  done,  then ? " 

Augeard  advised  the  Queen  to  rejoin  her  brother, 
the  Emperor.  He  added  :  "  I  know  only  one  wa,y  — 
but  that  is  infallible  —  to  save  the  King,  yourself, 
your  children,  and  all  France.  It  is  for  you  to  go 
away  with  Madame  Royale  and  the  Dauphin,  dress- 
ing him  as  a  little  girl,  and  go  as  a  private  person,  — 
not  as  a  queen  or  a  princess.  You  could  no  longer 
be  set  up  in  opposition  to  the  new  Constitution  they 
want  to  give  us,  and  your  lives  would  be  safe." 


TUB  INSTALLATION.  9 

Augeard  went  on  to  develop  a  complete  plan  of 
escape.  The  Queen,  with  her  children,  and  Madame 
Thibaut,  her  maid,  were  to  go  npon  the  roof,  and 
descend  from  there  by  a  flight  of  stairs  Avhich  led  to 
the  Court  of  the  Princes.  She  was  to  depart  by  way 
of  this  court,  leaving  at  the  Tuileries  a  letter  ex- 
pressed in  some  such  words  as  these  :  — 

"My  most  Honored  Lord  and  August  Spouse: 
After  the  attempts  to  assassinate  me  on  the  fifth  and 
sixth  of  this  month,  I  cannot  conceal  from  myself 
that  I  have  the  frightful  misfortune  to  displease  my 
subjects.  They  imagine  that  I  am  opposed  to  the 
new  Constitution  they  desire  to  give  to  your  realm. 
In  order  to  banish  every  shadow  of  suspicion  which 
relates  to  me,  I  prefer  to  condemn  myself  to  pro- 
found retreat  outside  of  your  dominions,  which  I 
shall  not  re-enter,  my  most  honored  and  august 
spouse,  until  the  Constitution  shall  have  been  estab- 
lished." 

This  letter  would  be  delivered  to  the  King  at  his 
rising,  the  Queen  having  departed  the  night  before. 

"  No,  no ;  I  will  not  go  away ! "  cried  Marie 
Antoinette.  "  My  duty  is  to  die  at  the  King's  feet." 
The  Queen  was  right.  She  remained  courageously 
at  the  post  of  devotion  and  danger.  Those  who 
sought  to  persuade  her  to  abandon  her  husband  gave 
counsel  unworthy  of  her  lofty  heart.  By  following 
such  advice  the  daughter  of  the  great  Maria  Theresa 
might  have  saved  her  life,  but  she  would  have  lost 
something  more  desirable  —  her  honor, 


II. 

A  VISIT   FROM   THE   NATIONAL  ASSEMBLY. 

THE  monarchy,  although  shaken,  still  had  tradi- 
tion and  memory  on  its  side.  As  yet  no  one 
spoke  of  a  republic ;  and  the  future  regicides,  the 
Marats  and  the  Robespierres  themselves,  were  still 
royalists  by  conviction.  Louis  XVI.  could  not  bring 
himself  to  believe  that  the  nation  was  being  estranged 
from  him.  The  cheers  with  which  he  was  greeted 
when  he  passed  by  nourished  fatal  illusions  in  his 
mind ;  and  the  ceremonious  visit  paid  him  by  the 
National  Assembly  on  October  20,  1789,  increased 
the  serene  assurance  which  Marie  Antoinette  did  not 
share,  and  to  which  he  was  to  fall  a  victim. 

As  soon  as  he  arrived  in  Paris,  he  had  written  to 
the  Assembly :  — 

"  Gentlemen  :  The  affection  displayed  toward  me 
by  the  inhabitants  of  my  good  city  of  Paris,  and  the 
urgency  of  the  Commune,  have  decided  me  to  make 
it  my  most  habitual  place  of  residence.  As  I  am 
confident  that  you  will  be  unwilling  to  separate  from 
me,  I  desire  that  you  should  appoint  commissioners 
to  seek  the  most  convenient  location  for  you  here. 
10 


A    VISIT  FROM  THE  NATIONAL  ASSEMBLY.      11 

I  will  at  once  give  orders  to  have  it  got  in  readiness. 
Thus,  without  relaxing  your  useful  labors,  I  shall 
render  more  prompt  and  easy  the  communications 
which  mutual  confidence  makes  increasingly  neces- 
sary." 

Provisional  choice  was  made  of  the  great  hall  of 
the  archbishop's  palace.  The  Assembly  sat  there  for 
the  first  time  on  October  20,  and  decided  to  wait 
on  the  King  in  a  body.  The  visit  took  place  at  six 
o'clock  the  same  evening. 

Etiquette  was  still  maintained,  and  a  resemblance 
between  the  apartments  of  the  Tuileries  and  those 
of  Versailles  was  soon  established.  There  was  a  salon, 
which  they  called  the  Qj^il-de-Boeuf,  and  the  Gallery 
of  Diana  was  devoted  to  the  same  purposes  as  had 
been  the  Gallery  of  the  Mirrors.  A  person  in  the 
Carrousel,  opposite  the  chateau,  could  see  in  front  of 
him  three  courtyards,  separated  from  each  other  by 
walls  seven  or  eight  feet  high :  on  the  left  the  Court 
of  the  Princes ;  in  the  middle  the  Royal  Court,  which 
led  to  the  Central  Pavilion ;  and  on  the  right  the 
Swiss  Court,  leading  to  the  Pavilion  of  Marsan. 
Those  who  came  to  visit  the  King  entered  by  the 
Royal  Court.  On  the  right-hand  side  of  the  vesti- 
bule of  the  Central  Pavilion  was  a  large  and  hand- 
some staircase.  On  its  first  landing,  and  also  on 
the  right,  was  the  chapel,  which  was  very  simple ;  the 
sacristy  was  behind  the  altar,  above  which  was  the 
gallery  for  the  musicians,  opposite  that  of .  the  King 
and  Queen.     At  this  landing  the  staircase  divided 


12  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

into  two  symmetrical  parts ;  that  on  the  left  conduct- 
ing to  the  hall  called  the  Hundred  Switzers,  the 
great  hall  from  which  could  be  seen  both  the  court 
and  the  garden,  and  which  rose  to  the  roof  of  the 
Central  Pavilion ;  it  was  afterwards  the  Hall  of  the 
Marshals.  The  King's  apartment  included,  besides 
this  hall,  the  following  rooms :  the  Hall  of  the 
Guards,  afterwards  the  Salon  of  the  First  Consul ; 
the  royal  ante-chamber,  also  called  the  Q^il-de-Boeuf 
and  later  the  Hall  of  Apollo;  the  bedchamber  (a 
state  chamber  afterwards  called  the  Throne  Room)  ; 
the  great  royal  cabinet  (where  the  Council  of  the 
Ministry  sat,  and  known  afterwards  as  the  Salon  of 
Louis  XIV.) ;  and  finally  the  Gallery  of  Diana,  called 
also  the  Ambassadors'  Gallery. 

At  six  in  the  evening  the  members  of  the  National 
Assembly  met  in  the  Tuileries  in  the  royal  ante- 
chamber (the  Hall  of  Apollo).  No  distinctions  of 
rank  were  observed,  and,  for  the  first  time,  the  depu- 
ties attended  a  royal  audience  without  being  in  court 
dress.  Was  not  this  a  sign  of  the  times  ?  The  ushers 
opened  the  two  doors  by  which  entrance  is  made  into 
the  bedchamber  (the  future  Throne  Room).  The 
masters  of  ceremonies,  walking  on  either  hand  of 
the  President,  introduced  the  Assembly.  The  King 
received  them,  seated  in  an  armchair.  He  removed 
his  hat  only  during  their  entrance  and  while  receiv- 
ing the  salutations  of  the  President,  M.  Freteau,  a 
member  of  Parliament  who,  in  spite  of  his  advanced 
opinions,  Avas  to  perish  on  the  scaffold  like  the  King 


A    VISIT  FBOM  THE  NATIONAL  ASSEMBLY.      13 

himself.  M.  Freteau  made  a  speech  in  which  the 
following  remarks  occur :  "  The  affection  of  the 
French  people  for  their  monarch  seemed  incapable 
of  increase  after  that  memorable  day  when  their 
voice  proclaimed  you  the  restorer  of  liberty.  There 
remained,  Sire,  a  still  more  touching  title  to  be  given 
you,  —  that  of  the  nation's  best  friend.  Henri  IV. 
received  it  from  the  inhabitants  of  a  city  in  which  he 
spent  his  youth.  Historical  monuments  apprise  us' 
that  in  the  letters  he  wrote  them  he  signed  himself 
*  Your  best  friend.'  This  title,  Sire,  is  due  to  you 
from  the  whole  of  France.  We  have  seen  Your 
Majesty,  calm  in  the  midst  of  tumults,  taking  on 
yourself  all  risks  and  seeking  to  withdraw  your 
excited  people  from  them  by  your  presence  and 
your  solicitous  care ;  we  have  seen  you  renouncing 
your  pleasures,  your  recreations,  and  your  tastes,  in 
order  to  come  among  a  turbulent  multitude  and 
announce  the  return  of  peace,  to  strengthen  the 
bonds  of  concord,  and  rally  the  exhausted  forces  of 
this  vast  empire.  How  sweet  it  is  to  us.  Sire,  to 
gather  into  one  the  benedictions  with  which  an 
immense  people  surround  you,  and  offer  them  in 
honorable  tribute.  We  add  to  them  the  assurance 
of  a  zeal  continually  more  active  in  the  mainte- 
nance of  law  and  the  defence  of  your  protecting 
authority." 

The  King  was  not  prepared  for  this  visit  from  the 
National  Assembly. 

"  Gentlemen,"   he   replied  with   emotion,    "  I   am 


14  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

content  with  the  attachment  you  express  for  me. 
I  counted  on  it.  I  receive  the  testimony  of  it  with 
profound  feeling." 

The  Assembly  then  expressed  a  desire  to  present 
their  respects  to  the  Queen.  The  King  permitted 
all  the  deputies  to  pass  through  his  cabinet  (the 
Salon  of  Louis  XIV.)  in  order  to  arrive  at  Marie 
Antoinette's  apartments  by  the  Gallery  of  Diana. 
The  ushers  opened  the  two  leaves  of  the  folding- 
door  which  leads  from  the  bedchamber  to  the  Royal 
Cabinet,  and  the  deputies  passed  through,  bowing 
very  low  to  Louis  XVI.,  who  had  placed  himself 
near  this  door. 

At  the  end  of  the  Gallery  of  Diana,  on  the  right- 
hand  side,  ended  a  staircase  which  led  from  the 
ground-floor  to  the  first  story  and  the  rooms  for- 
merly occupied  by  the  Avife  of  Louis  XIV.,  and 
called  the  Queen's  Apartments.  They  are  five  in  all, 
looking  down  upon  the  garden,  and  with  the  Gallery 
of  Diana  just  behind  them.  Here  Marie  Antoinette 
received  the  visit  of  the  Assembly.  The  Queen, 
who  had  not  been  forewarned  of  their  arrival,  was 
at  the  moment  at  her  toilet,  getting  ready  to  play  in 
public.  A  desire  not  to  keep  the  deputies  waiting 
decided  her  to  give  them  an  immediate  audience 
without  putting  on  more  ceremonious  attire.  She 
seated  herself  in  an  armchair  in  the  principal  room, 
and  the  Assembly  were  presented  by  the  masters  of 
ceremonies  as  had  been  the  case  with  the  King. 
One  of  them,  M.  de  Nantouillet,  who  published  an 


A    VISIT  FROM  THE  NATIONAL  ASSE2IBLY.      15 

account  of  this  visit,  remarks  that  the  Queen,  accus- 
tomed to  receive  the  constituted  bodies  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  King,  need  not  have  risen  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Assembly,  and  that  in  doing  so,  and 
in  saying  a  word  concerning  the  fact  that  she  was 
not  in  full  dress,  she  wished  to  give  them  a  special 
mark  of  her  esteem. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  President,  "  the  first  desire  of 
the  National  Assembly  on  arriving  in  the  capital  was 
to  present  the  King  with  the  tribute  of  their  respect 
and  love.  They  could  not  resist  the  natural  oppor- 
tunity to  offer  you  also  their  good  wishes.  Receive 
them,  Madame,  such  as  we  form  them,  lively,  ardent, 
and  sincere.  It  would  be  a  real  satisfaction  if  the 
National  Assembly  might  behold  in  your  arms  that 
illustrious  cliild,  the  offspring  of  so  many  kings  ten- 
derly cherished  by  their  people,  —  the  descendant  of 
Louis  IX.,  of  Henri  IV.,  of  him  whose  virtues  are 
the  hope  of  France.  Neither  he  nor  the  authors  of 
his  life  will  ever  enjoy  so  much  prosperity  as  we 
desire  for  them." 

The  Queen  replied :  "  I  am  touched,  as  I  ought  to 
be,  with  the  sentiments  expressed  toward  me  by  the 
National  Assembly.  If  I  had  been  notified  of  their 
intention,  they  would  have  been  received  in  a  more 
befitting  manner."  Then  Marie  Antoinette  com- 
manded the  Master  of  Ceremonies  to  go  and  find  the 
Dauphin.  As  soon  as  the  child  was  brought,  she  took 
him  in  her  arms,  and  showed  him  to  all  the  deputies. 
Cries  of   "  Long   live  the  King ! "     "  Long  live  the 


16  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Queen  I  "  "  Long  live  Monseigneur  the  Dauphin  !  " 
resounded  with  enthusiasm.  For  a  moment  Marie 
Antoinette  was  distracted  from  the  thought  of  her 
afEictions. 

A  few  days  later  she  changed  her  quarters,  and, 
leaving  the  first  story,  installed  herself  on  the  ground- 
floor,  where  she  had  her  dressing-room,  her  bedcham- 
ber, and  her  salon.  As  to  Louis  XVL,  he  continued 
to  live  in  the  apartment  which,  since  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV.,  had  been  called  the  "  apartment  of  the 
King."  It  communicated  with  the  Great  Cabinet  (the 
Salon  of  Louis  XIV.),  and  comprised  three  rooms, 
looking  on  the  garden,  —  a  small  cabinet  intended  for 
the  first  valet  de  chambre,  the  sovereign's  bedcham- 
ber, and  a  library.  Louis  XVI.  had  his  son  and 
daughter  placed  near  him  in  the  apartment  known  as 
"  the  apartment  of  the  Queen,"  which  Marie  Antoi- 
nette had  just  vacated  for  another  on  the  ground- 
floor.  In  addition  to  his  rooms  in  the  first  story,  he 
occupied  three  on  the  ground-floor,  which  were  sit- 
uated in  the  angle  of  the  intermediate  pavilion,  be- 
tween those  of  Flora  and  the  Centre,  one  of  which 
communicated  with  the  Queen's  dressing-room. 
Every  morning,  having  spent  the  first  moments 
after  rising  in  devotional  exercises,  he  descended  to 
his  little  apartment  on  the  ground-floor  by  a  narrow 
private  staircase.  He  looked  first  at  his  thermome- 
ter, and  then  received  the  greetings  of  his  wife  and 
children.  It  was  there  also  that  he  breakfasted, 
served  by  one  domestic  only,  the  Queen  taking  ad- 


A    VISIT  FROM  THE  NATIONAL  ASSEMBLY.      17 

vantage  of  this  moment  to  come  and  chat  with  her 
husband.  From  there,  too,  he  could  examine  what 
was  going  on  in  the  garden  without  being  seen,  and 
listen  to  the  remarks  made  just  under  his  windows. 

In  spite  of  everything,  the  unfortunate  monarch 
still  preserved  the  greatest  illusions.  Such  manifes- 
tations as  that  just  made  by  the  National  Assembly 
deceived  him  concerning  the  extreme  gravity  of  the 
situation.  He  believed  that  he  was  still  loved  and 
respected.  Even  the  October  days  had  not  cured 
him  of  his  fallacious  optimism.  Doubtless,  the  mon- 
archy had  not  entirely  lost  its  prestige,  and  the  Na- 
tional Assembly  were  sincere  when  they  expressed 
sentiments  of  fidelity  toward  their  King.  But  the 
Revolution  made  incessant  progress.  As  was  re- 
marked by  Madame  de  B^arn,  the  daughter  of  the 
governess  of  the  royal  children,  it  was  like  one  of 
those  great  currents  which  carry  away  even  vessels 
which  seek  to  cast  anchor. 


III. 

PAEIS   AT  THE  CLOSE   OF    1789. 

WHAT  a  varied  spectacle  !  What  a  tragi-com- 
edy  !  What  diverse  figures  !  What  contra- 
dictory emotions !  What  an  amalgam  of  ideas  and 
passions,  of  vices  and  virtues  !  Here,  marquises  and 
dukes ;  there,  people  of  the  faubourgs  and  insur- 
gents. Red  heels  here ;  red  bonnets  there.  Here, 
the  language  of  courts ;  there,  the  insults  of  the  mar- 
ket-place. In  the  Tuileries,  elegance  still,  and  polite- 
ness, and  the  chivalrous  manners  of  the  old  regime ; 
and  a  stone's  throw  distant,  in  the  pestilent  streets 
neighboring  the  Carrousel,  the  threats  and  hatred  of 
a  populace  in  rags;  a  little  beyond,  in  the  galleries 
of  the  Palais  Royal,  speech-making  agitators,  and 
the  prostitutes  who  played  such  leading  parts  in  the 
October  days ;  beside  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  the 
riding-school  where  the  National  Assembly  has  its 
noisy  sessions,  its  bitter  discussions,  and  the  stormy 
eloquence  of  its  Mirabeau,  the  thunderer;  on  every 
street,  in  every  square,  colporteurs  shouting  forth  their 
lies,  newsmongers,  Paul  Prys,  gossips  who  delight 
in  calumny  and  the  unhealthy  emotions  of  sedition, 

18 


PABIS  AT  THE  CLOSE  OF  1789.  19 

who  play  at  being  soldiers  in  the  National  Guards, 
at  politics  in  the  caf^s,  at  demagogy  in  the  clubs, 
mischief-makers  who  amuse  themselves  by  rekind- 
ling everywhere  badly  extinguished  fii^ebrands ;  in 
the  outskirts  of  Paris  the  principal  soldiers  of  the 
insurrection,  tlie  future  Septembrists,  the  future 
furies  of  the  guillotine.  What  blows  !  What  shocks! 
This  old  regime  which  is  dead  —  this  new  regime 
which  is  still  unborn  !  What  a  chaos !  What  seeth- 
ing in  this  alembic,  this  furnace !  What  throes,  what 
anguish,  what  rending,  is  not  France  to  endure,  that 
she  may  bring  forth,  in  suffering,  modern  society, 
her  daughter!  What  electricity  in  the  air!  What 
ensanguined  or  sombre  clouds  on  the  horizon  !  What 
a  vast  hubbub  of  confused  and  noisy  sounds,  —  beat- 
ing of  drums,  applause  and  yells  of  disapproval  in 
the  Assembly  and  the  clubs,  the  ringing  of  bells,  the 
stroke  of  the  tocsin !  Paris  is  disturbed,  tumultuous, 
full  of  inflammable  materials.  One  would  say  the 
ground  is  mined.  At  every  step  one  dreads  a  sudden 
explosion.  The  soil  is  volcanic.  One  sees  every- 
thing as  if  through  the  glare  of  a  conflagration. 

The  Revolution  is  everywhere.  Even  in  the  salons 
of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  there  is  a  left  and 
a  right  who  dispute  as  bitterly  as  they  do  in  the 
National  Assembly.  Farewell  that  Attic  wit,  that 
sweetness,  that  urbanity,  which  for  so  long  have  made 
Parisian  salons  veritable  schools  of  good  taste  and 
grace !  Unpleasant  politics  have  become  the  only 
topic    of   conversation.      Everybody  talks  loud  and 


20  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 


listens  very  little.  Ill  humor  pierces  through  the 
tone  as  through  the  glance.  The  women  lose  most 
by  this  change  in  the  manners  of  good  society.  It  is 
only  the  gentle  passions  which  befit  their  features, 
their  voices,  the  delicacy  of  their  entire  being,  and 
behold  them  railing  like  demoniacs !  Politics  dis- 
figures them,  and  anger  makes  them  ugly. 

At  the  theatre  things  are  still  worse  than  in  the 
salons.  The  play-houses  are  transformed  into  tilt- 
yards  where  the  combatants  give  themselves  over  to 
perpetual  contests.  Whenever  a  favorable  allusion 
permits  the  royalists  to  display  their  sentiments 
toward  the  King  and  Queen,  they  consider  it  a  great 
triumph  to  drown  the  actor's  voice  by  noisy  applause. 
Then  they  hasten  to  the  ]3alace  to  say  that  public 
opinion  is  coming  round  to  good  sense,  and  the  revo- 
lutionists are  crushed.  But  the  Jacobins  come  in 
force  to  the  next  play.  They  insult  the  aristocrats. 
They  cheer  enthusiastically  every  line  which  breathes 
of  liberty  ;  they  hiss  furiously  all  those  which  might 
recall  the  love  of  the  people  for  their  kings. 

At  the  Theatre  Frangais,  when  Charles  Ninth  is 
played,  look  at  the  public,  a  more  curious  spectacle 
than  the  stage.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  act,  when 
the  dismal  bell  announces  the  moment  of  the  massa- 
cre, do  you  see  him  who  listens  to  it  with  a  dull 
groan  ?  Do  you  hear  him  who  cries,  "  Silence  ! 
silence ! "  as  if  he  feared  lest  the  strokes  of  this 
death  bell  should  not  resound  loud  enough  within 
his  heart,  where  they  feed  the  sensations  of  ven- 
geance and  of  hatred? 


PARIS  AT  THE  CLOSE  OF  1789.  21 

And,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  sentimental  phrases, 
pictures  in  the  style  of  Greuze,  a  humanitarian,  phil- 
osophic jargon  borrowed  from  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau, 
a  sort  of  patriotic  festival,  an  orgy  of  false  fraternity. 
French  gaiety,  too,  which  does  not  lose  its  rights, 
irony  which  blends  with  enthusiasm,  gross  puns  suc- 
ceeding to  the  accents  of  eloquence,  juggler's  clowns 
who  chatter  while  Mirabeau  is  speaking,  laughter 
and  tears,  the  grotesque  and  the  sublime.  At  the 
side  of  noble  enthusiasms  and  generous  ideas,  mean 
and  wretched  passions,  envious  women,  many  of 
whom  rejoice  to  see  the  Queen  unhappy;  the  level- 
ling sentiment  which  finds  pleasure  in  the  decay  and 
humiliation  of  the  court  and  the  aristocracy;  the 
great  capital  in  a  shudder ;  the  theatres  always  full ; 
the  churches  still  thronged  with  the  faithful,  who 
seek  by  their  prayers  to  turn  away  the  wrath  of  God ; 
optimists  who,  in  the  triumphant  age  of  iron,  persist 
in  predicting  the  age  of  gold ;  pessimists  whose  most 
sinister  previsions  are  outdone  by  events ;  in  fine, 
beyond  all  this  vehement  crowd  whose  cries  and 
murmurs  are  like  the  tumult  of  the  waves,  a  few 
sages,  troubled  but  silent,  who  ask  themselves  how 
all  this  will  end,  and,  as  from  a  mountain  top,  look 
down  at  the  vessels  tossing  upon  the  billows. 

What  is  most  striking  in  the  scene  presented  by 
Paris  at  the  close  of  1789,  is  its  extreme  variety. 
Count  de  S^gur,  coming  back  from  his  embassy  to 
Saint  Petersburg,  shows  us  the  different  aspects 
presented  by  the  capital  in  a  single  day. 


22  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

In  the  morning  he  goes  to  see  Baron  de  Besenval, 
who  is  shut  up  in  the  prison  of  the  Chatelet  for  having 
resisted  the  riot  when  commanding  the  troops  of  the 
Parisian  garrison  at  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution. 
An  immense  crowd  assembled  on  the  quay  obstructs 
the  thoroughfare  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  National 
Guard,  and  fills  the  air  with  vociferations.  Some  mad- 
men, accusing  the  judges  of  delay  and  the  authorities 
of  treason,  are  shouting  loudly  for  the  prisoner's  head. 
It  takes  M.  de  Scgur  a  long  time  to  arrive,  and  gives 
him  great  trouble  to  make  his  way  through  this  furious 
multitude.  Reaching  the  prison  at  last,  he  enters  by  a 
wicket  under  a  low  door.  He  passes  with  repugnance 
through  the  gloomy  windings  of  this  den  of  vice  and 
crime ;  after  he  has  mounted  the  tower  stairs,  he  enters 
a  tolerably  clean  chamber,  where  he  sees  Baron  de 
Besenval,  not  merely  calm  and  courageous,  but  with 
his  accustomed  gaiety,  talking  with  several  friends 
and  some  women,  as  amiable  as  they  are  charming, 
who  have  come  to  make  his  captivity  more  agreeable. 

An  hour  later,  M.  de  Segur  is  on  the  Place  de 
Greve.  There  he  sees  many  assemblages  which  the 
National  Guard  is  painfully  trying  to  disperse.  From 
there  he  goes  to  the  market,  where  he  has  before  him 
a  great  public  mart  in  full  activity,  as  in  the  midst  of 
the  profoundest  peace.  Then  he  goes  to  the  Palais 
Royal.  He  enters  that  famous  garden,  the  centre  of 
industry,  the  focus  of  corruption,  an  arena  alwa}^ 
open  to  the  seditious,  who  make  it  the  rendezvous 
of   their   machinations.     A    curious    crowd  are    sur- 


PABIS  AT   THE  CLOSE   OF  1789.  23 

rounding  a  man  who,  mounted  on  a  table,  is  declaim- 
ing vehemently  against  the  perfidy  of  the  court,  the 
pride  of  the  nobles,  the  cupidity  of  the  rich,  the 
inertia  of  the  legislators,  and  who  concludes,  ap- 
plauded by  some  and  criticised  by  others,  by  propos- 
ing incendiary  motions. 

Disgusted  by  this  scene.  Count  de  S^gur  goes  away 
and  enters  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries.  The  weather 
is  splendid.  The  terrace  and  the  alleys  are  filled  with 
peaceful  promenaders.  The  prettiest  women  of  Paris 
are  displaying  their  dresses  and  their  charms.  Satis- 
faction beams  on  every  face.  One  would  think  it 
was  a  holiday. 

M.  de  S<^gur  leaves  the  Tuileries  and  goes  through 
the  Champs  Elysees,  where  all  is  confusion.  He  sees 
a  multitude  of  armed  men.  They  are  old  soldiers  of 
the  French  Guard,  who,  to  execute  a  projected  revolt, 
are  going  to  the  great  square,  the  appointed  place 
for  their  reunion ;  but  Lafayette,  warned  of  their 
gathering,  hastens  with  several  battalions  of  the 
National  Guard,  and  disarms  them. 

In  the  evening,  to  banish  the  souvenirs  of  the  day, 
M.  de  Segur  goes  to  the  Opera.  This  time  he  is 
tempted  to  imagine,  that,  up  to  now,  he  has  been 
dreaming.  "Who  would  not  believe  himself  to  be 
living  in  the  happiest  and  most  peaceful  of  epochs  ? 
Behold  this  affluence  of  spectators,  this  charming 
ballet,  these  magnificent  decorations ;  recognize  in 
the  boxes  the  most  distinguished  people  of  the  court 
and  of  the  citv.     Look  at  these  fashionable  women, 


24  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

who  glance  from  behind  the  fans  they  manage  so 
well.  Listen  to  this  enchanting  music,  which  ban- 
ishes anxiety  and  care.  What  an  opening  in  the 
cloudy  sky!  Over  the  volcano,  around  the  crater, 
whence  flames  and  lava  are  about  to  pour,  there  are 
still  greensward,  fields,  and  flowers. 

In  the  tableau  of  Paris,  at  the  close  of  1789,  the 
court  does  not  occupy  a  brilliant  place.  One  might 
say  that  royalty,  doubtful  of  itself,  is  effacing  itself 
voluntarily,  and  dwindling  away.  Every  day  it  loses 
a  little  more  of  its  prestige.  The  rays  of  the  royal 
sun,  once  so  dazzling,  are  growing  pale.  "  One  would 
not  suspect  that  there  is  a  court  at  Paris.  All  is 
absolutely  quiet.  There  is  no  question  of  hunts  or 
balls,  of  comedies  or  of  concerts.  Economy  looks 
like  hoarding,  and  certainly  Voltaire  would  not  say 
to-day  (December  10,  1789),  'IToiv  proud  Paris  is  of 
the  court  of  Louis.''  "  ^ 

However,  there  are  still  cards  on  Sundays,  dinners 
in  public  on  Tuesdays  and  Thursdays,  and  all  the 
nobility  of  Paris  repair  assiduously  to  the  chateau. 
There  are  even  many  persons  who  would  not  have 
dared  to  pretend  to  present  themselves  at  court  the 
year  before,  but  who  now,  under  pretext  of  zeal  for 
the  royal  cause,  are  seeking  to  become  intimate  at 
the  Tuileries.  But  events  have  stamped  the  palace 
with   a    character   of   profound   sadness.      Its  faded 

1  Secret  Correspondence  concerning  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie 
Antoinette.  MS.  of  the  Imperial  Library  of  Saint  Petersburg,  pub- 
lished by  M.  de  Lescure.     2  vols.     Plon. 


PARIS  AT  THE  CLOSE  OF  1789.  25 

tapestries,  its  arches  damaged  by  the  weather,  its 
dilapidated  aspect,  give  it,  on  the  whole,  the  air  of 
an  assemblage  of  things,  once  brilliant,  but  now 
mouldy,  which  recall  both  the  grandeur  and  the 
decadence  of  the  monarchy.  The  royal  family  is 
free  to  walk  in  the  garden  only  at  certain  hours. 
Then  the  public  is  excluded.  Some  of  the  soldiers 
say  vulgarly  that  the  King  is  "let  out."  And  yet, 
shaken  as  it  is,  royalty,  with  an  abler  monarch, 
would  still  have  great  resources.  Betrayed  by  itself, 
rather  than  by  the  feebleness  and  incapacity  of  its 
defenders,  it  still  sustains  itself,  and  Louis  XVI. 
needs  three  years  more  to  consummate  a  downfall 
wrought  chiefly  by  himself. 


IV. 

THE  EXECUTION  OF  THE  MARQUIS  DE  E  AVE  AS. 

V 

THE  hour  was  approaching  when  Louis  XVI. 
would  see  every  prerogative  of  royalty  torn 
from  him,  even  the  right  to  pardon.  Already,  in  the 
early  months  of  1790,  he  dared  not  save  from  death 
a  royalist  whose  crime  had  been  an  excess  of  mon- 
archical zeal.  The  gibbet  of  the  Marquis  de  Favras 
was  the  prelude  to  the  King's  scaffold. 

M.  de  Favras  was  born  in  1745.  He  served  in  the 
army  with  distinction,  and  his  wife  was  a  daughter 
of  the  Prince  of  Anhalt-Schauenburg.  Ever  since 
the  Revolution  began  he  had  been  considering  one 
project  after  another  for  rescuing  the  monarchy 
from  the  dangers  surrounding  it.  His  naturally  vivid 
imagination  became  overheated,  and  he  looked  on 
himself  with  great  simplicity  as  the  future  saviour  of 
the  throne.  His  plan  was  to  carry  off  the  King,  and 
take  him  to  Peronne,  and  to  arrest  Lafayette  and 
Necker.  It  was  claimed  that  he  also  wished  to 
assemble  twelve  thousand  cavalry  in  Paris,  and  sup- 
port them  by  an  army  of  twenty  thousand  Swiss, 
twenty  thousand  Sardinians,  and  twelve  thousand 
26 


EXECUTION   OF  MARQUIS  BE  FAVRAS.         27 

Germans;  but  this  was  not  proved.     M.  de  Favras 
communicated  his  ideas  to  a  number  of  the  persons 
surrounding  Monsieur,  the  King's  brother,  but  no  one 
attached  serious  importance  to  them.     He  was  then 
imprudent  enough  to  try  to  sound  certain  officers  of 
the  National  Guard,  who,  instead  of  receiving  him 
favorably,  informed  against  him.      He  was  at  once 
arrested,  and  sent  to  the  Chatelet  to  be  tried.     As 
the  name  of  Monsieur  had  been  implicated  in  the 
denunciation,  the  Prince  went  at  once  to  the  Paris 
Commune  in  order  to  counteract,  without  a  moment's 
delay,  the  suspicious  rumors  which  might  get  into 
circulation.     "  From  the  day,"  said  he,  "  when  in  the 
Second  Assembly  of  Notables  I  declared  myself  con- 
cerning   the    fundamental    questions   which    divide 
men's  minds,  I  have  not  ceased  to  believe  that  a 
great   revolution  is  impending;    that  the   King,  by 
virtue  of  his  intentions,  his  virtues,  and  his  supreme 
rank,  ought  to  be  at  the  head  of  it,  since  it  cannot 
be  advantageous  to  the  nation  without  being  equally 
so  to  the  monarch;  and,  finally,  that  royal  author- 
ity should  be  the  rampart  of  national  liberty,  and 
national  liberty  the  basis  of  royal  authority."     This 
discourse  was  received  with   general  applause,  and 
the  Prince  was  accompanied  by  the  crowd  back  to 
the  Luxembourg  palace,  where  he  resided. 

As  for  the  unfortunate  Favras,  everybody  was  bit- 
ter against  him.  During  the  whole  of  the  trial  the 
people  kept  up  an  incessant  threatening  of  the  judges 
and  the  cry,  "  To  the  lamp-post  with  him  !  "     It  was 


28  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

even  necessary  to  have  pieces  of  artillery  and  nu- 
merous troops  constantly  drawn  up  in  the  courtyard 
of  the  Chatelet.  The  crowd  had  been  exasperated  by 
the  acquittal  of  Baron  de  Besenval  and  others  impli- 
cated in  the  affairs  of  July  14.  It  is  claimed  that  La- 
fayette said;  "If  M.  de  Favras  is  not  condemned,  I 
will  not  answer  for  the  National  Guard."  The  prin- 
cipal charge  against  the  accused  was  a  letter  from  M. 
de  Foucault,  who  asked  him :  "•  Where  are  your 
troops  ?  From  what  direction  will  they  enter  Paris  ? 
I  would  like  to  serve  among  them."  This  was  suffi- 
ciently vague,  and  no  trace  was  discovered  either  of 
the  cavaliers  who  were  to  make  the  supposed  attack, 
or  of  the  Swiss,  German,  and  Piedmontese  armies 
expected  to  aid  them.  Nevertheless,  M.  de  Favras 
was  condemned  to  death.  He  listened  to  his  sentence 
with  the  greatest  calmness.  "  I  pity  you  exceed- 
ingly," said  he  to  the  judges,  "  if  the  simple  testimony 
of  two  men  is  enough  to  make  you  condemn  an  inno- 
cent person."  He  was  hanged  in  the  Place  de  Grdve 
on  February  19,  1790.  As  soon  as  the  people  saw 
him  in  the  cart  with  the  rope  around  his  neck,  and 
the  hangman  behind  him,  they  broke  into  wild  exul- 
tation and  cries  of  enthusiastic  joy.  It  was  night, 
and  lamps  were  lighted  all  over  the  Place  de  Grdve. 
They  even  put  one  on  the  gibbet.  "  Citizens,"  cried 
the  condemned,  "I  die  innocent:  pray  God  for  me." 
Then,  turning  to  the  hangman,  he  said,  "  Come,  my 
friend,  do  your  duty."  The  crowd  responded  with 
ironical  clapping  of  the  hands,  ferocious  laughter. 


EXECUTION   OF  MARQUIS  DE  FAVEAS.         29 

and  repeated  cries  of  "  Skip,  Marquis  I  "  As  soon  as 
he  was  hanged,  a  number  of  voices  cried,  '•'•UncoreV^ 
as  if  to  demand  more  executions.  The  people  wanted 
to  get  at  the  dead  body,  tear  it  in  pieces,  and  carry 
the  bleeding  head  on  the  end  of  a  pike.  The 
National  Guard  succeeded  in  preventing  this  scene, 
worthy  of  cannibals,  but  only  with  great  difficulty 
and  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 

Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  next  day  to  the  Marquise 
de  Bombelles :  ''  My  head  and  heart  are  so  full  of 
yesterday  that  it  is  hardly  possible  for  me  to  think  of 
anything  else.  I  hope  that  his  blood  may  not  fall 
back  upon  his  judges.  But  nobody  (except  the  peo- 
ple and  that  class  of  beings  whom  one  cannot  call 
men  because  it  would  lower  humanity)  understands 
for  what  he  was  condemned.  He  was  so  imprudent 
as  to  wish  to  serve  his  king.  Behold  his  crime.  I 
hope  that  this  unjust  execution  may  have  the  effect 
of  persecutions,  and  that  from  his  ashes  men  who 
still  love  their  country  may  spring  up  again  to 
avenge  her  on  the  traitors  by  whom  she  is  deceived. 
I  hope,  also,  that  Heaven,  for  the  sake  of  the  courage 
he  showed  during  the  four  hours  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  before  his  execution,  may  have  pardoned  his 
sins.  Pray  for  him,  my  heart;  you  cannot  perform 
a  better  work." 

The  execution  of  M.  de  Favras  had  become  a  fixed 
idea  with  Madame  Elisabeth.  On  February  23  she 
wrote  again  to  Madame  de  Bombelles :  "  Heavens, 
Bombe,  how  angry  your  letter  made   me !     I  own 


30  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

that  I  was  extremely  wrong.  But  no  matter,  I  must 
tell  you  why.  I  was  penetrated  by  the  injustice  of 
M.  de  Favras's  death,  by  the  superb  way  in  which  he 
ended  his  life,  and  the  love  he  showed  for  his  king 
(which  was  the  sole  caus.e  of  his  death).  For  two 
days  I  had  been  thinking  of  nothing  else ;  my  heart, 
my  soul,  my  entire  being  was  filled  with  nothing 
but  this  idea,  and  then  I  receive  a  letter  in  which 
you  say  to  me,  '  But  what  was  the  wretched  man 
thinking  about?'  You  may  judge  whether  your 
princess,  who  does  not  always  give  herself  time  for 
reflection,  fell  into  a  rage  against  poor  Bombe,  who, 
nevertheless,  had  done  nothing,  and  who,  if  she  had 
been  here,  would  have  wondered,  like  all  who  breathe 
in  Paris,  both  at  the  injustice  of  his  death  and  the 
couraofe  with  which  he  submitted  to  his  sentence. 
No ;  it  is  only  God  who  can  have  given  it  to  him. 
So  I  greatly  hope  he  has  received  the  recompense 
for  it.  The  hearts  of  honest  men  willingly  render 
him  the  homage  he  deserves.  Even  the  people,  the 
people  who  cried  loudly  for  his  death,  said  the  next 
day,  and,  indeed,  on  returning  from  the  execu- 
tion, '  But  he  protested  his  innocence  on  the  gal- 
lows :  it  was  very  wrong  then  not  to  have  taken 
him  down.' " 

The  execution  of  M.  de  Favras  afflicted  Marie  An- 
toinette not  less  than  Madame  Elisabeth :  her  chagrin 
was  even  more  keen  because  she  was  obliged  to  con- 
ceal it.  On  the  Sunday  following  M.  de  la  Villeurnoy 
went  in  the  morning  to  Madame  Campan  to  say  that 


EXECUTION   OF  MABQUIS  BE  FAVRAS.         31 

he  intended  to  bring  the  widow  and  the  son  of  the 
Marquis  de  Favras  to  the  public  dinner  of  the  King 
and  Queen.  Madame  Canipan  tried  in  vain  to  pre- 
vent this  step.  Madame  de  Favras  and  her  son  made 
their  appearance  in  deep  mourning  when  dinner  was 
half  over.  But  the  Queen,  behind  Avhom  was  the 
demagogue  Santerre,  commander  of  a  battalion  of 
the  National  Guard,  dared  not  say  a  single  word  to 
the  widow  and  the  orphan.  When  the  repast  was 
finished,  she  went  to  Madame  Campan's  room,  and 
throwing  herself  into  an  armchair,  cried,  "  I  am 
come  to  weep  with  you."  Then  she  added :  "  We 
must  needs  perish  when  we  are  attacked  by  men  who 
unite  every  talent  to  every  crime,  and  defended  by 
men  who  are  very  estimable,  but  have  no  adequate 
idea  of  our  position.  They  have  compromised  me 
with  both  parties  by  presenting  the  wife  and  son  of 
Favras.  If  I  were  free  to,  I  ought  to  have  taken  the 
son  of  a  man  who  had  just  sacrificed  himself  for  us, 
and  placed  him  at  table  between  the  King  and  me ; 
but,  surrounded  by  the  executioners  who  had  just 
put  his  father  to  death,  I  did  not  even  dare  to  look 
at  him.  The  royalists  will  blame  me  for  seeming  not 
to  have  noticed  the  poor  child,  and  the  revolutionists 
will  be  enraged  at  the  thought  that  in  presenting  him 
they  expected  to  please  me." 

However,  the  Queen  added  that  she  understood 
Madame  de  Favras's  position,  that  she  knew  her  to 
be  in  need,  and  ordered  Madame  Campan  to  send 
her  next  day  several  rolls  of  fifty  louis  each,  assuring 


32  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

her  at  the  same  time  that  the  King  and  Queen  would 
always  provide  for  her  and  her  son. 

Poor  Queen !  What  torture  for  a  woman  of  her 
character !  To  be  obliged  to  incessant  dissimulation, 
to  control  her  countenance,  to  hide  her  tears,  to  stifle 
her  sighs,  afraid  to  make  known  her  sympathy  and 
gratitude  to  her  friends  and  advocates  !  Surrounded 
QYQXi  in  her  palace  by  inquisitors,  she  dared  neither 
to  act  nor  speak.  She  hardly  dared  to  think.  What 
torture  for  a  haughty  and  candid  soul,  for  a  woman 
who,  notwithstanding,  carried  her  head  so  high,  for 
the  daughter  of  the  German  Csesars,  for  the  Queen 
of  France  and  Navarre ! 


V. 


THE  DAUPHIN  AND  MADAME  EOYALE. 

AAYOMAN  of  the  people,  feeble,  worn  out  with 
fatigue  and  poverty,  sometimes  reaches  such 
an  extreme  of  suffering  and  discouragement  that  she 
no  longer  feels  the  strength  necessary  to  struggle 
against  pain  and  hunger.  But  at  the  moment  when 
she  despairs,  the  poor  woman  casts  a  glance  at  her 
little  children.  Then  her  exhausted  forces  revive  as 
by  a  miracle ;  the  down-hearted  creature  rises  up 
again.  She  will  go  on  living ;  she  will  continue  her 
fierce  struggle  against  fate.  Maternal  tenderness 
converts  her  into  a  heroine. 

Marie  Antoinette  suffered  from  neither  poverty 
nor  hunger.  But  her  anguish  was  not  on  that  ac- 
count less  keen.  There  are  cruel  anxieties  beneath 
the  gilded  roofs  of  palaces  as  under  the  thatch  of 
cabins,  and  when  the  Queen  of  France  and  Navarre 
felt  her  strength  failing  in  her  struggle  up-stream, 
she  had  as  much  need  to  think  of  her  children  as 
the  humble  woman  of  the  people.  She  was  made 
intrepid  by  her  passionate  desire  to  save  them.  She 
suffered  for  them   more  than  for  herself.     Anxiety 

33 


34  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

about  their  future  plunged  her,  as  it  were,  into  an 
abyss.  Would  the  diadem  that  had  been  placed  on 
the  Dauphin's  forehead  prove  a  royal  crown  or  a 
crown  of  thorns?  Would  the  child  to  whom  such 
a  brilliant  destiny  had  been  promised  be  a  king  or 
a  martyr?  The  maternal  devotion  of  Marie  Antoi- 
nette was  both  her  joy  and  her  afthction.  The  more 
unhappy  she  became,  the  more  attached  she  was  to 
the  two  children,  at  once  her  torment  and  her  hope. 

The  once  frivolous  woman  had  become  serious  and 
grave.  Far  removed  from  her  were  all  considera- 
tions of  dress  and  elegance.  No  more  distractions, 
no  more  theatres,  no  more  balls,  no  more  concerts, 
no  more  worldly  conversations.  Meditations  only, 
prayers,  long  hours  of  needlework  pursued  with 
feverish  activity,  alms,  good  works,  charitable  excur- 
sions throughout  Paris.  The  Queen  of  France  had 
become  the  model  of  a  Christian  mother,  the  gover- 
ness and  teacher  of  her  daughter.  Her  face,  like  her 
existence,  had  assumed  something  like  austerity.  The 
majesty  which  dominated  her  whole  person  was  the 
supreme  majesty  of  sorrow.  Melancholy  covered  her 
as  with  a  veil.  Her  days  were  passed  in  work,  her 
nights  were  sleepless  and  unquiet.  Her  eyes,  so  often 
reddened  by  tears,  were  both  tender  and  touching. 
She  wrote  to  the  Duchess  cle  Polignac :  "  You  speak 
of  my  courage.  Less  is  needed  to  endure  the  fright- 
ful moments  which  present  themselves  than  to  bear  up 
daily  under  our  position  with  its  peculiar  pains,  those 
of  its  friends,  and  of  all  those  who  surround  us.     It 


THE  DAUPHIN  AND  MADAME  BOY  ALE.  35 

is  a  load  too  heavy  to  be  borne,  and  if  my  heart  were 
not  so  strongly  bound  to  my  husband,  my  children, 
and  my  friends,  I  should  desire  to  break  down  under 
it.  You  all  support  me ;  I  still  owe  this  sentiment 
to  your  friendship.  For  me,  I  bring  misfortune  to 
every  one,  and  your  pains  are  for  me  and  by  me." 

The  queen  might  have  weakened,  but  the  mother 
had  not  a  moment  of  exhaustion.  The  sight  of  her 
childi-en  gave  her  a  courage  equal  to  every  trial.  In 
1790  her  daughter,  Madame  Royale,  was  eleven 
years  old.  The  birth  of  this  child  had  nearly  cost 
the  mother's  life.  Madame  Campan  has  described 
the  overflowing  joy,  the  transports  of  delight,  which 
greeted  the  news  that  all  danger  was  past.  Madame 
Campan  deplores  that  a  celestial  voice,  revealing  the 
secret  decree  of  destiny,  had  not  then  cried  to  the 
Queen's  faithful  servants  :  "  Do  not  bless  that  art  of 
human  beings  which  brings  her  back  to  life ;  weep, 
rather,  over  her  return  to  a  world  that  is  fatal  and 
cruel  to  the  object  of  her  affections.  Ah  I  let  her 
quit  it,  honored,  cherished.  You  will  shed  bitter 
tears  above  her  tomb ;  you  can  cover  it  with  flowers. 
.  .  .  There  will  come  a  day  when  all  the  furies  of 
the  earth,  after  having  pierced  her  heart  with  a 
thousand  empoisoned  shafts,  after  having  graven  the 
signs  of  premature  decrepitude  on  her  noble  and 
touching  features,  will  deliver  her  to  tortures  such 
as  do  not  exist  for  criminals ;  will  deprive  her 
dead  body  of  burial,  and  precipitate  you  all  into  the 
same  gulf  with  her  if  you  permit  the  least  movement 


36  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

of  compassion  at  the  sight  of  so  many  cruelties  to 
escape  you." 

Already  disasters  were  hovering  over  the  Queen's 
head.  When  Madame  Royale  came  into  the  world,  it 
was  not  a  daughter  but  a  son  that  the  court  desired. 
Marie  Antoinette  had  only  pressed  the  child  more 
tenderly  to  her  heart  on  that  account.  "  Poor  little 
one,"  she  said  to  her,  "  you  were  not  wanted,  but  for 
all  that  you  will  not  be  less  dear  to  me.  A  son 
would  have  belonged  more  especially  to  the  State. 
You  will  be  my  own,  you  will  receive  all  my  cares, 
you  will  share  my  happiness  and  sweeten  my  pains." 
Alas !  there  was  no  more  happiness  to  share,  but  how 
many  pains  there  were  to  sweeten ! 

Madame  Royale  displayed  the  best  disposition, 
and  from  her  infanc}^  manifested  those  sentiments  of 
piety  which  were  the  honor  and  consolation  of  her 
whole  life.  She  made  her  first  communion  at  the 
church  of  Saint  Germain-l'Auxerrois  on  April  8, 
1790.  In  the  morning,  Marie  Antoinette  led  the 
young  Princess  into  the  King's  chamber  and  said  to 
her,  "  My  daughter,  throw  yourself  at  your  father's 
feet  and  ask  his  blessing."  The  child  prostrated 
herself,  and  her  father,  raising  her,  addressed  her  in 
these  words :  "  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  bless 
you,  my  daughter,  asking  Heaven  to  give  you  grace 
to  appreciate  well  the  great  action  you  are  going  to 
perform.  Your  heart  is  innocent  in  the  sight  of  God ; 
your  prayers  should  be  pleasing  to  Him :  offer  them 
for  your  mother  and  me ;    ask  Him  to  grant  me  the 


THE  DAUPUIN  AND  MADAME  ROYALE.  37 

grace  necessary  to  secure  the  welfare  of  those  whom 
He  has  placed  under  my  dominion  and  whom  I  ought 
to  consider  as  my  children ;  ask  Him  to  preserve  the 
purity  of  religion  throughout  the  kingdom ;  and 
remember  well,  my  daughter,  that  this  holy  religion 
is  the  source  of  happiness,  and  our  pathway  through 
the  adversities  of  life.  Do  not  believe  that  you  will 
be  sheltered  from  them ;  you  are  very  young,  but  you 
have  already  seen  your  father  afflicted  more  than 
once.  You  know  not,  my  daughter,  what  Providence 
has  decreed  for  you,  whether  you  will  remain  in  this 
realm  or  go  away  to  live  in  another.  In  whatever 
spot  the  hand  of  God  may  place  you,  remember  that 
you  ought  to  edify  by  your  example  and  to  do  good 
whenever  you  find  an  opportunity.  But  above  all, 
my  child,  succor  the  unfortunate  with  all  your  might. 
God  gave  us  our  birth  in  the  rank  we  occupy  only 
that  Ave  might  labor  for  their  welfare  and  console 
them  in  their  afflictions.  Go  to  the  altar  where  you 
are  awaited,  and  implore  the  God  of  mercy  never  to 
let  you  forget  the  counsels  of  a  tender  father."  The 
young  Princess,  profoundly  moved,  answered  by  her 
tears. 

It  was  customary  for  the  daughters  of  France  to 
receive  a  set  of  diamonds  on  the  day  of  their  first 
communion.  Louis  XVI.  told  Madame  Royale  that 
he  had  done  away  with  this  too  expensive  usage. 
"  My  daughter,"  he  said,  "  I  know  your  good  sense 
too  well  to  permit  me  to  suppose  that  at  a  moment 
when  you  should  be  entirely  occupied  in  preparing 


38  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

your  heart  to  be  a  sanctuary  worthy  of  the  Divinity, 
you  can  attach  much  value  to  artificial  ornaments. 
Moreover,  my  child,  public  wretchedness  is  extreme, 
the  poor  abound  everywhere,  and  assuredly  you  would 
rather  go  without  jewels  than  know  that  they  are 
going  without  bread." 

The  young  Princess  then  went  to  her  parish 
church.  Saint  Germain-l'Auxerrois.  She  approached 
the  holy  table  with  marks  of  the  sincerest  devotion. 
Marie  Antoinette,  in  disguise,  was  present  at  the 
ceremony,  which  was  of  extreme  simplicity  and 
which  j)i'0^^^ced  in  the  royal  family  very  sweet 
emotions.  Louis  XVI.  gave  abundant  alms  on  this 
occasion.  The  day  before,  the  Dauphin  had  said 
to  his  governess,  Madame  de  Tourzel,  "  I  am  very 
sorry  not  to  have  my  Versailles  garden  any  more. 
I  would  have  made  two  beautiful  bouquets  for  to- 
morrow, one  for  my  mother,  and  the  other  for  my 
sister." 

The  Dauphin  had  just  passed  his  fifth  birthday 
(he  was  born  March  27,  1785).  The  grace,  the 
charming  ways  of  the  royal  child  fascinated  even 
the  demagogues.  The  Revolution  grew  milder  when 
it  saw  him  smile.  The  crowd  never  beheld  him 
without  emotion.  He  was  so  pretty,  so  cheerful,  so 
amiable.  He  had  been  given,  within  the  precinct  of 
the  Tuileries,  at  the  end  of  the  terrace  beside  the 
water,  a  little  garden  extending  to  the  pavilion  in- 
habited by  his  preceptor,  the  Abbe  d'Avaux.  There 
he  found  again  what  he  had  left  behind  him  at  Ver- 


THE  DAUPHIN  AND  MADAME  BOYALE.  39 

sailles,  — air,  amusement,  flowers.  When  he  went 
to  his  new  garden  he  was  usually  accompanied  by 
a  detachment  of  the  National  Guard  on  duty  at  the 
Palace  of  the  Tuileries.  He  very  often  wore  the 
uniform  of  a  National  Guard.  He  learned  the  man- 
ual exercise  with  a  miniature  gun,  and  nothing  in- 
terested the  crowd  so  much  as  to  see  him  do  the 
exercise.  When  the  spectators  were  not  too  numer- 
ous, he  invited  them  to  enter  his  garden. 

One  day  when  the  throng  was  greater  than  usual, 
and  many  persons  seemed  displeased  not  to  be  able 
to  come  in,  "  Excuse  me,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  sorry 
that  my  garden  is  so  small,  because  that  deprives  me 
of  the  pleasure  of  receiving  all  of  you."  Then  he 
offered  flowers  to  those  who  approached  the  paling, 
and  looked  pleasantly  at  them.  A  priest  of  the 
parish  of  Saint  Eustache,  the  Abbe  Antheaume,  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  forming  a  regiment  of  children  for 
the  little  Prince :  it  was  called  the  Royal  Dauphin. 
The  uniform  was  a  diminutive  of  that  of  the  French 
Guards,  with  white  gaiters  and  a  three-cornered  hat. 
This  regiment  of  little  boys  asked  to  be  treated  in  a 
military  manner,  like  the  National  Guard. 

"  There  are  no  more  children,"  said  Lafayette. 
"Very  well,  so  be  it!  We  have  seen  so  many  old 
men  possessing  the  vices  of  young  ones  that  it  is 
good  to  see  children  display  the  virtues  of  men." 
The  infantine  regiment  served  three  posts  of  honor, 
—  the  chateau  of  the  Tuileries,  the  hotel  of  the 
Mayor  of  Paris  in  the  rue  des  Capucines,  and  that  of 


40  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

the  commandant  of  the  National  Guard  in  the  rue  de 
Bourbon.  When  they  marched  past  the  royal  family, 
Louis  XVI.  saluted  the  flag  affectionately,  and  the 
Dauphin  made  gestures  of  sympathy  to  his  little 
companions-in-arms. 

Like  the  mother  of  the  Gracchi,  Marie  Antoinette 
could  say  thereafter  that  her  children  were  her  jewels. 
The  mother  was  still  more  august  than  the  queen. 
Holding  her  son  by  one  hand  and  her  daughter  by  the 
other,  she  had  an  aspect  at  once  imposing  and  sweet 
which  ought  to  have  disarmed  the  most  ferocious 
hatred.  But  the  Revolution  was  without  pity  and 
without  bowels  of  compassion.  Neither  motherhood 
nor  infancy  could  succeed  in  touching  it. 


VI. 

THE   ROYAL  FAMILY  AT   SAINT   CLOUD. 

ONE  experiences  a  singular  sensation  when,  on 
leaving  a  city  torn  by  civil  war  or  revolution, 
he  suddenly  finds  himself  amidst  the  solitude  and 
tranquillity  of  the  country.  In  the  presence  of 
nature,  so  unmoved  by  our  passions,  man  seems  so 
little,  God  so  great.  It  is  a  reconciliation,  a  truce, 
an  oblivion.  One  almost  persuades  himself  that  he 
has  nothing  more  in  common  with  tlie  city  where  he 
has  suffered  so  much.  A  calm  and  gentle  revery 
succeeds  to  cruel  anxieties;  one  feels  strengthened, 
consoled,  rejuvenated. 

This  impression  which  Danton  was  afterwards  to 
experience  in  the  fields  near  Arcis-sur-Aube,  Marie 
Antoinette  enjoyed  under  the  beautiful  umbrage  of 
Saint  Cloud  in  the  spring  of  1790.  The  royal  family, 
which  was  not  yet  absolutely  captive,  remained  there 
from  May  24  to  the  end  of  October.  It  was  a  great 
relief  to  hear  revolutionary  clamor  no  longer;  to  be 
out  of  the  way  of  the  vociferous  hawkers  who,  at  the 
Tuileries,  were  not  contented  to  remain  at  the  garden 
gates,  but  crossed  it  in  every  direction,  announcing 

41 


42  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

their  threatening  news.  The  Count  and  Countess 
of  Provence  did  not  live  in  the  chateau  of  Saint 
Cloud,  but  they  rented  a  house  near  the  bridge  and 
came  every  day  to  sup  with  the  King  and  spend  the 
evening. 

Entire  harmony  reigned  between  all  the  members 
of  the  royal  family.  The  rigid  etiquette  of  former 
days  was  modified.  The  rule  which  permitted  the 
admission  of  none  but  princes  of  the  blood  to  the 
sovereign's  table  was  relaxed.  At  dinner  and  supper 
the  King  and  Queen  invited  persons  to  sit  down  with 
them  nearly  every  day.  After  dinner  they  drove 
about  the  environs  in  open  carriages.  After  supper 
the  King  played  billiards  with  his  family  and  his 
invited  guests.  He  said  one  day  to  Mademoiselle 
Pauline  de  Tourzel,  the  daughter  of  his  children's 
governess :  — 

"  Pauline,  can  you  play  billiards  ?  " 

"  No,  Sire." 

*'  Oh,  well,"  went  on  Louis  XVI.,  "  you  must  know 
how  to  play  billiards.  I  will  take  charge  of  3^our 
education  and  give  you  some  lessons." 

The  good-natured  King  kept  his  word. 

The  stay  at  Saint  Cloud  Avas  a  lull  in  the  storm. 
We  who  know  the  denouement  of  the  drama  in 
advance  see  nothing  in  its  changing  scenes  but  gloom 
and  blood.  The  thought  of  the  final  catastrophe 
weighs  upon  us.  The  scaffold  is  always  before  our 
eyes.  It  haunts  us  incessantly.  Happily,  the  reality 
was  not  always   quite  so  frightful.     A  memory  of 


THE  ROYAL  FAMILY  AT  SAINT  CLOUD.         43 

Charles  I.  rose  up,  it  is  true,  in  the  obscurity  ;  but,  to 
reassure  themselves,  people  were  wont  to  say  that  in 
history  similar  situations  rarely  have  identical  con- 
clusions. There  were  hours  of  calm,  of  hope,  and 
even  of  gaiety.  The  Countess  de  Bdarn  (Pauline 
de  Tourzel),  in  her  Souvenirs  of  Forty  Years^  has 
sketched  the  picture  of  this  family  life  with  its  com- 
parative tranquillity  and  its  innocent  distractions. 
The  Countess  of  Provence  animated  the  conver- 
sations by  her  slightly  malicious  wit.  She  was 
especially  amusing  on  Sundays.  On  that  day  the 
public  were  permitted  to  enter  and  walk  around  the 
royal  table.  It  was  then  the  humor  of  the  Princess 
to  guess  at  the  character,  disposition,  and  profession 
of  those  who  were  passing  before  her.  The  sort  of 
prophetical  examination  which  she  made  of  their 
faces  sometimes  led  to  very  amusing  results. 

Madame  Elisabeth  enjoyed  the  stay  at  Saint  Cloud. 
"  I  have  a  window  which  opens  on  a  tiny  private 
garden,"  she  wrote  to  the  Marquise  de  Bombelles ; 
"  it  gives  me  great  pleasure.  It  is  not  so  charming  as 
Montreuil,  but  at  least  I  am  free  and  can  enjoy  good 
fresh  air,  which  helps  one  to  forget  somewhat  what  is 
going  on  —  and  you  will  agree  that  there  is  frequent 
need  of  doing  so."  The  little  Dauphin  had  a  fine 
time  at  Saint  Cloud.  He  was  continually  in  the 
garden,  and  went  to  walk  every  evening  in  the 
park  of  Meudon. 

Louis  XVL,  always  inclined  to  optimism,  like  all 
honest  and  kindly  natures,  felt  his  hopes  revive,  and 


44  MARIE  ANTOINETTE, 

naively  imagined  tliat  by  dint  of  reading  and  medi- 
tating on  the  history  of  Charles  I.,  he  could  find 
means  to  preserve  himself  from  the  fate  of  that  un- 
happy monarch. 

Alone  among  the  royal  family,  Marie  Antoinette 
had  continual  presentiments  from  which  she  could  no 
more  escape  at  Saint  Cloud  than  at  the  Tuileries. 
Every  contemporary  memoir  bears  witness  to  the  fixed 
idea  which  had  pursued  her  since  the  outbreak  of  the 
Revolution,  and  the  sort  of  vertigo  caused  her  by 
the  half-open  abyss  beneath  her  feet.  Even  at  times 
when  something  like  calm  and  forgetfulness  stole 
over  her  mind,  she  remained  profoundly  sad;  her 
whole  person  seemed  enveloped  in  a  veil  of  melan- 
choly. She  drew  painful  comparisons  between  the 
Saint  Cloud  of  1790  and  the  Saint  Cloud  of  former 
years.  The  palace,  the  garden,  the  horizon,  were  the 
same,  but  how  the  light  of  other  days  was  darkened! 
Where  were  now  the  times  when  the  public  thronged 
the  park  on  Sunday  evenings,  and  displayed  such  joy 
when  the  Queen  with  her  children  passed  by  in  an 
open  carriage,  greeted  by  cheers  and  universal  bene- 
dictions ?  Then,  as  Weber  says,  Saint  Cloud  offered 
the  appearance  of  a  great  family  reunion.  No  man- 
ner of  uneasiness  kept  away  the  curious.  The  apart- 
ments, the  gardens,  the  hearts  of  the  august  hosts, 
were  open  to  the  French  people.  Whither  had 
vanished  the  epoch  of  the  royal  eclogue,  when  the 
amiable  Queen  patronized  the  rural  ball?  On  the 
feast  of  Saint  Cloud  the  peasants  came  in  their  best 


THE  ROYAL  FAMILY  AT  SAINT  CLOUD.  45 

attire,  and  the  Queen  gave  them  proofs  of  her  gener- 
osity, and  sometimes  joined  in  the  dance  like  a  simple 
peasant.  Where  was  the  companionship  of  the  Poli- 
gnacs,  so  amusing,  so  brilliant,  witty,  and  well  pleased 
with  life  ?  How  swiftly  those  days  of  light-hearted 
gaiety  had  fled  away !  Marie  Antoinette,  recalling 
them,  wrote  from  Saint  Cloud  to  the  self-exiled 
Duchess  de  Polignac,  "  Ah,  how  sad  is  that  dining- 
room,  once  so  gay  !  "  On  the  horizon  the  fair  city  of 
Paris,  of  old  so  beloved,  so  desired,  how  changed  it 
seems !  Then  it  was  the  city  of  distractions,  pleas- 
ures, and  popular  ovations,  of  gala  representations, 
ceremonious  entries,  visits  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  of 
Te  Deums  at  Notre  Dame,  with  salvos  of  applause 
and  murmurs  of  admiration  when  the  Queen  ap- 
peared—  the  Queen,  that  privileged  being,  almost 
supernatural,  more  than  Avoman,  more  than  sovereign, 
a  sort  of  goddess,  whose  smile  seemed  like  a  celestial 
benediction  to  the  idolizing  crowd.  Paris  is  now 
the  hellish  furnace  of  the  Revolution,  whose  hot 
breath  penetrates  even  to  the  gardens  of  Saint  Cloud, 
to  wither  up  the  herbage,  burn  the  greenery,  and 
corrupt  the  atmosphere.  No,  no;  Paris  was  no  longer 
the  good  city,  but  the  wicked  city,  the  ungrateful, 
arrogant,  and  cruel  city,  the  city  of  spies,  calumnia- 
tors, persecutors,  and,  in  a  future,  alas  I  very  near, 
the  city  of  regicides. 

At  Paris,  in  the  whirlpool  of  affairs,  in  the  midst 
of  the  melde,  Marie  Antoinette,  as  if  the  prey  of  an 
evil  dream,  had  not  fully  realized  her  situation.     At 


46  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Saint  Cloud  she  reflected  more,  she  had  leisure  to 
feel  herself  live.  It  was  then  she  reflected  on  the 
past,  looked  the  present  in  the  face,  and  questioned 
the  future.  She  passed  in  review  the  different  periods 
of  her  destiny,  already  so  fertile  in  contrasts.  She 
recalled  the  souvenirs  of  the  Burg  and  of  Schoen- 
brunn,  of  the  chateau  of  Versailles,  and  the  Little 
Trianon.  One  day  she  was  walking  in  the  park  of 
Saint  Cloud  with  Madame  de  Tourzel,  the  Duchess 
of  Fitz-James,  and  the  Princess  of  Tarente.  Seeing 
herself  surrounded  by  National  Guards,  some  of 
whom  were  deserters  from  the  French  Guards,  she 
said  with  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  "  How  surprised  my 
mother  would  be  if  she  could  see  her  daughter,  the 
child,  the  wife,  and  the  mother  of  kings,  or,  at  least, 
of  an  infant  destined  to  become  one,  surrounded  by 
a  guard  like  this !  It  seems  as  if  my  father's  mind 
was  prophetic  the  day  when  I  saw  him  for  the  last 
time." 

Then  she  related  to  the  three  ladies  who  accom- 
panied her  that  the  Emperor  Francis  L,  departing 
for  Italy,  whence  he  was  never  to  return,  had  as- 
sembled his  children  about  him  to  bid  him  farewell. 
"I  was  younger  than  my  sisters,"  added  Marie  An- 
toinette ;  "  my  father  took  me  on  his  knees,  embraced 
me  several  times,  and  always  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
as  if  he  felt  great  pain  in  leaving  me.  This  appeared 
singular  to  all  who  were  present;  as  for  me,  perhaps 
I  should  not  have  thought  of  it  so  often  if  my  actual 
position,  by  recalling  this  circumstance,  did  not  cause 


THE  BOYAL  FAMILY  AT  SAINT  CLOUD.         47 

me  to  dread  for  the  remainder  of  my  life  a  succes- 
sion of  misfortunes  which  it  is  only  too  easy  to  fore- 
see." The  impression  which  the  Queen's  last  words 
produced  was  so  vivid  that  all  three  of  the  ladies 
melted  into  tears.  Then  she  said  to  them,  with  her 
accustomed  grace  and  sweetness  :  "  I  reproach  myself 
for  having  saddened  you.  Calm  yourselves  before 
returning  to  the  chateau.  Let  us  revive  our  courage. 
Providence  will  perhaps  make  us  less  unhappy  than 
we  fear." 

Saint  Cloud  was  like  an  oasis  in  a  desert  parched 
by  the  sun.  It  was  a  halt,  a  resting-place  upon  the 
road  to  Calvary.  In  spite  of  her  anxieties  the  Queen 
enjoyed  this  last  respite,  this  latest  favor  of  fortune. 
One  might  call  it  her  farewell  to  the  flowers,  the 
country,  the  nature  she  so  much  loved.  Her  dreamy 
and  poetic  soul  tasted  with  a  sort  of  sad  pleasure 
those  supreme  joys  Avhich  were  to  be  torn  aw^ay  from 
her  so  soon.  She  had  still  her  husband,  her  children, 
and  her  sister-in-law,  that  saintly  Madame  Elisabeth, 
who  watched  beside  royalty  like  a  good  angel.  Ah ! 
while  there  is  yet  time,  let  us  look  well  at  this  tran- 
quil and  patriarchal  residence  of  Saint  Cloud;  at 
these  ancient  trees  which  overshadow  foreheads  so 
pure ;  at  this  noble  royal  family  which,  made  sacred 
by  misfortune  and  fortified  by  religion,  gives  an 
example  of  Christian  virtues.  It  is  an  edifying  spec- 
tacle, and  consoles  us ;  we  are  not  willing  to  turn 
away  our  eyes.  Let  us  banish  dismal  images.  They 
will  return  but  too  quickly  to  dominate  our  thoughts. 


VII. 

MAEiE  Antoinette's  interview  with  mirabeau. 

THE  only  time  that  Marie  Antoinette  ever  spoke 
with  Mirabeau  was  at  Saint  Cloud,  in  private, 
on  July  3,  1790,  —  a  memorable  interview,  when  two 
powerful  influences  came  into  each  other's  presence ; 
that  of  genius  and  eloquence,  and  that  of  royalty  and 
beauty,  —  an  affecting  interview  which  left  the  great 
tribune,  as  it  were,  fascinated,  and  which,  had  he 
lived  longer,  might  have  resulted  in  the  salvation 
of  the  French  monarchy.  The  most  illustrious  of 
orators  and  the  most  august  and  charming  of  queens 
found  themselves  face  to  face  for  one  day  only,  and 
on  that  day  they  treated  with  each  other  as  equal 
powers.  But  it  was  the  woman  who  prevailed;  it 
was  her  influence  which  carried  off  the  honors  of 
victory.  The  foeman  of  yesterday  was  the  liegeman 
of  to-morrow. 

The  man  who  succeeded  in  establishing  relations 
between  the  court  and  Mirabeau  was  a  great  Belgian 
lord  in  the  service  of  France,  —  Count  de  la  Marck, 
younger  son  of  the  Duke  of  Arenberg.  The  corre- 
spondence between  Mirabeau  and  Count  de  la  Marck, 
48 


INTERVIEW   WITH  MIBABEAU.  49 

collected,  arranged,  and  annotated  by  M.  de  Bacourt, 
—  a  publication  exceedingly  interesting  and  of  the 
greatest  historical  value, — gives  details  as  curious 
as  they  are  circumstantial  concerning  the  part  played 
by  the  famous  tribune  from  the  time  when  he  became 
the  secret  agent  of  Louis  XVI.  while  continuing  to 
display  the  passions  and  speak  the  language  of  the 
Revolution. 

Count  de  la  Marck  and  Mirabeau  became  ac- 
quainted in  1788,  and  at  once  conceived  a  mutual 
sympathy.  Mirabeau's  genius  attracted  Count  de  la 
Marck,  who,  in  his  turn,  charmed  and  fascinated 
Mirabeau  by  his  courtesy,  his  good  breeding,  and  his 
high  social  position.  At  bottom  the  great  tribune 
was  aristocratic.  As  the  Duke  of  Levis  has  remarked 
in  his  Souvenirs  et  Portraits^  "  he  loved  the  monarchy 
through  reason,  and  the  nobility  through  vanity,  even 
to  the  point  of  putting  his  servants  in  livery  so  soon 
as  his  means  permitted,  and  that  in  a  period  when 
other  people  were  taking  theirs  out  of  it.  He  said 
one  day  to  some  Republican  deputies,  '  France  will 
always  need  an  aristocracy. '  " 

He  was  keenly  chagrined  by  the  fact  that  he  was 
not  thought  well  of  in  good  society.  Although  by 
his  birth  he  was  on  an  equality  with  those  who  fre- 
quented the  court,  it  was  at  once  evident  from  his 
manners  that  he  lacked  the  ease  acquired  by  famil- 
iarity with  the  upper  circles.  He  bowed  too  low 
when  he  wished  to  show  politeness.  He  dressed  in 
bad  taste.     Mas^nificent  in  the  tribune,  he  was  some- 


50  MARIE  ANTOINETTE, 

what  embarrassed  on  entering  a  drawing-room.  He 
came  in  with  an  air  of  constrained  gratitude  which 
did  not  disappear  until  he  was  deep  in  conversation. 
"But  then,"  says  the  Duke  of  Levis,  "he  quickly 
recovered  his  own  place,  which  was  the  first." 

The  memory  of  his  faults  and  of  his  adventurous 
life  oppressed  him.  "  Ah !  "  said  he,  "  what  injury 
the  immorality  of  my  youth  has  done  to  the  public 
good ! "  He  was  the  fifth  child,  but,  by  the  death 
of  a  brother  he  became  the  eldest  son  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Mirabeau,  a  rich  proprietor  and  the  head 
of  a  great  Provencal  family.  Married  very  young 
to  a  rich  heiress,  he  served  at  first  in  the  army,  but 
presently  abandoned  both  his  wife  and  profession. 
At  odds  with  his  father,  overwhelmed  with  debts,  re- 
duced to  expedients,  thrown  into  prison  by  arbitrary 
orders  under  the  King's  privy  seal,  obliged  to  live  on 
his  scanty  earnings  as  an  author,  going  from  one 
irregularity  to  another,  and  from  scandal  to  scandal, 
he  got  the  reputation  of  a  degraded  and  unworthy 
person.  He  threw  himself  into  the  revolutionary 
camp  through  bitterness  and  vexation. 

But  this  r61e  did  not  fail  to  shock  his  secret  in- 
stincts. He  prided  himself  on  his  good  birth,  and 
suffered  because  he  could  not  live  in  accordance 
with  his  hereditary  rank.  When,  after  the  suppres- 
sion of  titles  and  coats-of-arms  he  found  himself 
designated  in  the  reports  of  the  sessions  of  the 
National  Assembly  under  the  plebeian  appellation, 
Riquetti  Senior,  called  Mirabeau,  his  old  feudal  pride 


INTERVIEW  WITH  MIR  ABE AU.  51 

revolted  in  the  tribune's  soul.  In  the  depth  of  his 
heart  he  cursed  the  arrogant  Revolution  which  dared 
deprive  him  of  his  title  as  Count.  He  was  enraged 
with  himself  for  having  served  it,  and  muttered  by 
way  of  excuse  that  he  meant  to  Avar  against  it  and 
hoped  to  be  its  master.  The  seeming  demagogue  was 
in  reality  a  remorseful  monarchist.  Count  de  la 
Marck  says :  "  On  several  occasions  when  I  was  irri- 
tated by  his  revolutionary  language  in  the  tribune,  I 
flew  into  a  violent  passion  and  berated  him  soundly. 
Well !  he  would  burst  into  tears  like  a  child,  and 
without  baseness  express  his  contrition  with  a  sin- 
cerity which  no  one  could  doubt." 

Such  was  the  man  whom  M.  de  la  Marck  found 
means  to  reconcile  with  the  court.  At  first  the  task 
was  not  easy.  The  Queen's  prejudices  against  the 
tribune  seemed  at  first  glance  invincible.  Toward 
the  close  of  1789  she  wrote  to  M.  de  la  Marck :  ''  I 
have  never  doubted  your  sentiments,  and  when 
I  learned  that  you  were  in  league  with  Mirabeau  I 
thought,  assuredly,  that  it  was  with  the  best  inten- 
tions. But  you  can  accomplish  nothing  with  him ; 
and  as  to  what  you  consider  necessary  on  the  part  of 
the  King's  ministers,  I  do  not  agree  with  you.  We 
shall  never,  I  think,  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  re- 
duced to  the  painful  necessity  of  having  recourse  to 
Mirabeau." 

A  few  weeks  later  things  had  changed.  In  IMarch, 
1790,  Count  de  la  Marck,  who  was  in  Belgium,  was 
recalled  to  Paris  by  a  word  from  Count  de  Mercy- 


62  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Argenteau,  the  Austrian  Ambassador,  and  a  friend  of 
Marie  Antoinette.  The  Queen  had  at  last  decided 
to  take  counsel  with  Mirabeau,  and  it  was  Count  de 
la  Marck  whom  she  charged  with  the  negotiation  in 
the  name  of  the  King.  Count  de  la  Marck  made 
known  the  conditions  to  his  friend. 

Mirabeau  was  to  receive  six  thousand  livres  a 
month,  and  all  his  debts,  to  the  amount  of  two  hun- 
dred and  eight  thousand  livres,  would  be  paid.  It 
was,  moreover,  the  King's  intention  to  send  him  a 
million,  if,  at  the  close  of  the  session  of  the  National 
Assembly,  he  had  fulfilled  his  engagements  with  the 
court  faithfully.  Never  had  Mirabeau  been  more 
rejoiced  than  by  this  news.  Proud  because  his  King 
had  recourse  to  him,  happy  to  pass  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  from  straitened  circumstances  to  fortune, 
enraptured,  enthusiastic,  full  of  gratitude,  he  was  in 
a  sort  of  intoxication. 

The  thing  is  done.  The  revolutionist  becomes 
conservative.  In  appearance  he  will  be  still  a  trib- 
une. But  at  bottom  he  is  a  monarchist,  a  defender 
and  servant  of  Louis  XVI.,  a  secret  agent  of  the 
court,  who  sends  note  after  note  and  gives  counsel 
upon  counsel.  He  wrote  thus,  May  10,  1790,  in  his 
first  letter  to  the  sovereign  :  "  Profoundly  moved  by 
the  anguish  of  the  King,  who  has  least  merited  his 
personal  misfortunes,  persuaded  that  if  in  his  situa- 
tion there  is  a  prince  whose  word  may  be  relied  on, 
that  prince  is  Louis  XVL,  I  am,  nevertheless,  so 
armed   by  men   and  events   against  the   compassion 


INTEEVIEW  WITH  MIBABEAU.  53 

which  springs  from  the  sight  of  human  vicissitudes, 
that  I  should  experience  an  invincible  repugnance 
against  playing  a  part  in  this  moment  of  factions  and 
confusion,  if  I  were  not  convinced  that  the  re-estab- 
lishment of  the  King's  legitimate  authority  is  the 
prime  necessity  of  France,  and  the  only  means  of  sav- 
ing it.  But  I  see  clearly  that  we  are  in  anarchy  and 
are  sinking  more  deeply  in  it  daily ;  I  am  so  indig- 
nant at  the  idea  that  I  sliall  have  contributed  merely 
to  a  vast  demolition,  and  the  fear  of  seeing  any  one 
but  the  King  at  the  head  of  the  state  is  so  insupport- 
able to  me,  that  I  feel  imperiously  summoned  back  to 
public  affairs  at  the  moment  when,  vowed  in  a  certain 
sense  to  the  silence  of  contempt,  I  thought  only  of 
aspiring  to  retirement." 

And  in  the  same  letter  he  promises  to  the  sover- 
eign "  loyalty,  zeal,  activity,  energy,  and  a  courage  of 
which  no  one,  perhaps,  has  any  just  idea."  He  prom- 
ises "  all,  in  fact,  except  success,  which  never  depends 
on  one  alone."  Some  days  afterwards  he  wrote,  in 
the  ardor  of  his  royalistic  zeal :  "  I  have  professed 
monarchical  principles  when  I  saw  nothing  in  the 
court  but  its  feebleness,  and  when,  knowing  neither 
the  soul  nor  the  thoughts  of  the  daughter  of  Maria 
Theresa,  I  could  not  count  on  that  august  auxiliary. 
I  have  fought  for  the  rights  of  the  throne  when  I 
inspired  nothing  but  distrust,  and  when  every  act  of 
mine,  envenomed  by  malignity,  seemed  like  a  snare. 
I  have  served  the  monarch  when  I  knew  very  well 
that  I  need  expect  neither  rewards  nor  benefits  from  a 


54  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

just  but  deluded  king.  What  will  I  not  do  now,  when 
confidence  has  increased  my  courage,  and  when  recog- 
nition has  converted  my  principles  into  my  duties  ?  " 

Mirabeau  had  not  yet  had  the  honor  of  speaking 
with  Marie  Antoinette,  but  he  was  already  her  enthu- 
siastic admirer.  June  20,  1790,  he  wrote  in  one  of 
his  notes  for  the  court :  "  The  King  has  only  one 
man  ;  it  is  his  wife.  There  is  no  safety  for  her  but 
in  the  re-establishment  of  the  royal  authority.  I 
should  like  to  believe  that  she  would  not  desire  life 
without  her  crown  ;  but  what  I  am  very  certain  of  is, 
that  she  will  not  preserve  her  life  if  she  does  not  pre- 
serve her  crown.  The  time  will  come,  and  very  soon, 
when  she  will  have  to  try  what  a  woman  and  child 
can  do  on  horseback  —  for  her  that  is  a  family  fash- 
ion ;  but,  meanwhile,  it  is  necessary  to  make  prepa- 
rations, and  not  believe  it  possible,  whether  by  the 
aid  of  chance  or  of  combinations,  to  escape  from  an 
extraordinary  crisis  by  the  assistance  of  ordinary  men 
and  measures." 

The  providential,  the  extraordinary  man  will  be 
himself,  the  Count  de  Mirabeau.  He  who  has  con- 
verted the  tribune  into  the  gigantic  pedestal  of  his 
renown,  his  pride ;  he  who,  his  heart  fascinated  by 
his  own  genius,  his  ears  filled  with  the  echoes  of  his 
thunderous  voice,  takes  pleasure  in  the  magnificent 
expansion  of  his  triumphant  personality,  do  you  know 
what  he  aspires  to  as  the  greatest  of  his  victories? 
A  word,  a  smile,  from  Marie  Antoinette.  His  chief 
desire  is  to  present  his  homage  to  the  Queen. 


INTERVIEW   WITH  MIRABEAU.  55 


On  July  3,  1790,  this  desire  was  at  last  realized. 
It  was  agreed  that  the  interview  should  take  place 
secretly  at  Saint  Cloud.  To  conceal  the  proceeding, 
Mirabeau  did  not  spend  the  previous  night  at  Paris, 
but  at  Auteuil,  at  the  house  of  his  niece,  Madame 
d'Aragon.  He  was  afterwards  conducted  with  great 
mystery  to  the  designated  place  of  the  political  ren- 
dezvous. This,  according  to  Madame  Campan's 
account,  was  not  an  apartment  of  the  palace,  as  M.  de 
Lacre telle  relates,  but  at  the  meeting  of  the  paths  in 
the  high  grounds  of  the  Queen's  private  garden  at 
Saint  Cloud. 

Behold,  then,  the  tribune  and  the  sovereign  face 
to  face.  Consider  that  interview  wherein  the  royalty 
of  birth  and  the  royalty  of  genius  experience  a  recip- 
rocal shudder  as  they  contemplate  each  other.  He  is 
there,  then,  the  man  whom  for  more  than  a  year  the 
Queen  has  thought  of  as  an  object  of  terror,  a  sort  of 
antichrist,  whom  she  has  called  the  monster.  It  is 
hardly  nine  months  since  he  was  described  to  her  as 
a  savage  being,  directing  bands  of  brigands  coming 
from  Paris  to  Versailles  to  slay  her.  It  was  a 
calumny,  but  she  had  believed  it.  She  recalled  the 
body-guards  assassinated  while  defending  her ;  her 
palace,  her  bedchamber,  invaded  by  cannibals  who 
demanded  her  head.  She  heard  incessantly  the  sin- 
ister echo  of  furious  cries,  the  cries  of  death ;  and  to 
all  these  souvenirs  the  menacing  image  of  Mirabeau 
clung  like  a  phantom.  And  now  he  was  before  her, 
that  man  of  terrific  ugliness,  whose  eyes  flashed  light- 


56  MAEIE  ANTOINETTE. 

ning ;  massive,  and  tall  in  stature ;  his  strong  head 
large  beyond  all  ordinary  measure,  and  still  further 
amplified  by  an  enormous  mass  of  hair  which  resem- 
bled a  lion's  mane. 

Behold  him,  this  Titan  of  speech,  this  Atlas  who 
would  bear  up  a  world !  And  who,  then,  will  be 
most  intimidated  by  this  meeting,  the  Queen  or  the 
tribune  ?  It  is  he,  he  especially  who  is  moved,  he 
who  has  a  shock  of  admiration  and  respect.  Formi- 
dable orator,  you  who  in  the  tribune  seem  able  to 
knead  marble  with  your  gigantic  hands ;  you  whose 
supernatural  voice  is  like  the  trump  of  the  last  judg- 
ment; you  who,  at  your  own  will  unchain  or  calm 
the  tempests ;  at  your  feet  all  the  fury  of  the  multi- 
tudes would  feebly  expire  —  and  yet  the  rustle  of  a 
woman's  dress  and  the  sound  of  her  voice  make  you 
tremble  ! 

Gentle,  benevolent,  august,  the  Queen  addresses 
the  tribune  with  the  supreme  grace  of  which  she  has 
the  secret :  "  With  an  ordinary  foe,"  she  said  to  him, 
"  with  a  man  who  might  have  sworn  the  downfall  of 
monarchy  without  appreciating  its  utility  to  a  great 
people,  I  should  be  at  this  moment  taking  a  most  im- 
proper step;  but  when  one  speaks  to  a  Mirabeau.  .  .  ." 

Marie  Antoinette  went  on  in  her  most  affable  tone, 
and  each  of  her  words  penetrated  to  the  very  depths 
of  Mirabeau's  soul.  Ah !  how  much  more  the  pres- 
ence of  this  Queen,  so  fair,  so  noble,  and  so  unhappy, 
flatters  the  French  Demosthenes  than  all  the  triumphs 
of  the  tribune,  all  the  intoxication  of  popularity  I 


INTERVIEW  WITH  MIBABEAU.  57 

How  he  ranks  the  least  word  from  that  sacred  mouth 
above  the  most  enthusiastic  acclamations,  the  most 
frenzied  applause  of  the  National  Assembly.  Oh ! 
he,  at  least,  does  not  deceive  himself  like  Cardinal 
de  Rohan.  It  is  not  a  false  Queen  there  in  the  shrub- 
bery this  time.  It  is  the  real  Marie  Antoinette,  the 
daughter  of  the  German  Caesar,  the  child  of  Maria 
Theresa,  the  wife  of  the  descendant  of  Henri  IV. 
and  Louis  XIV.,  the  Queen  of  France  and  Navarre ! 
What  an  honor,  what  a  rehabilitation,  to  be  well 
received  by  such  a  woman !  Mirabeau  is  contented 
with  himself.  He  feels  proud  and  happy.  All 
his  remorse  vanishes.  All  that  has  been  evil  in 
his  past  is  but  a  dream.  He  opens  a  new  career; 
he  no  longer  doubts  the  future.  Full  of  hope  and 
full  of  faitli,  it  is  with  profound  conviction  that  he 
cries,  in  taking  leave  of  the  Queen,  "  Madame,  the 
monarchy  is  saved !  " 


VIII. 

THE  FESTIVAL   OF   THE  FEDERATION. 

IN  July,  1790,  the  royal  family  left  Saint  Cloud 
for  several  days  and  went  to  Paris  to  be  present 
at  the  fetes  of  the  Federation.  Never  had  the  popu- 
lace been  so  preoccupied  with  any  solemnity.  The 
Moniteur  described  it  as  an  "august  fete,  the  most 
majestic  and  imposing  which,  since  the  annals  of  the 
world  have  been  known  to  us,  has  honored  the 
human  race."  The  men  of  the  French  Revolution 
delighted  in  everything  theatrical.  Mythological 
pomps,  souvenirs  of  antiquity,  grandiose  spectacles, 
enraptured  them,  and  nothing  so  charmed  the  Paris- 
ians as  open-air  ceremonies  in  which  they  were  both 
actors  and  spectators. 

The  day  chosen  for  the  fete  was  July  14,  the 
anniversary  of  the  taking  of  the  Bastille.  The  King, 
the  members  of  the  National  Assembly,  the  army, 
and  delegates  from  every  department  of  France,  were 
to  assemble  on  the  Champ-de-Mars  and  take  a  solemn 
oath  to  support  the  new  Constitution.  The  people 
naively  imagined  that  this  Constitution  was  going  to 
be  the  source  of  order,  peace,  liberty,  progress,  pros- 
58 


THE  FESTIVAL   OF  THE  FEDERATION.  59 

perity,  and  a  state  of  things  which  would  bring  back 
to  earth  the  age  of  gold.  The  Hebrews  in  the 
desert  had  not  awaited  with  more  impatience  the 
Holy  Law  which  Moses  brought  down  to  them  from 
Sinai.  And  yet,  as  nearly  always  happened  at  the 
time  of  the  Revolution,  a  secret  disquiet  mingled 
with  these  illimitable  hopes  and  joys. 

A  few  days  before  the  fete,  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
coming  from  England,  where  he  had  sojourned  since 
the  October  days  in  a  sort  of  exile,  disguised  under 
the  title  of  a  diplomatic  mission,  arrived  in  Paris,  and 
in  the  evening  made  his  appearance  at  the  palace. 
This  unexpected  arrival  alarmed  everybody.  It  was 
believed  that  the  Duke,  badly  received  by  the  King, 
and  almost  insulted  by  the  court,  was  about  to 
organize  a  great  conspiracy.  The  people,  always 
credulous,  believed  the  most  contradictory  and  fabu- 
lous reports.  Conservatives  and  revolutionists  alike 
lent  themselves  to  the  most  terrifying  projects.  Ac- 
cording to  some,  an  insurrection  was  about  to  break 
out  in  Paris ;  the  deputies  of  the  nobility  would  be 
massacred  on  the  Champ-de-Mars ;  Louis  XVI.  would 
be  deprived  of  his  crown,  and  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
placed  on  the  throne.  According  to  others,  there  was 
to  be  a  counter-revolution ;  the  patriots  would  have 
their  throats  cut,  and  the  most  popular  members  of 
the  National  Assembly  would  be  shot;  the  suburbs 
would  be  burned,  and  Louis  XVI.,  leaving  the  Champ- 
de-Mars,  would  re-enter  the  Tuileries  as  an  absolute 
monarch.     This  panic  did  not  last  long.     The  multi- 


60  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

tude,  always  fickle,  soon  lost  all  fear,  and  busying 
themselves  in  preparations  for  the  fete  with  a  pas- 
sionate activity  which  bordered  on  frenzy,  they  be- 
came absorbed  in  sentiments  of  confidence  and  joy. 

Twelve  thousand  workmen  were  constantly  em- 
ployed in  the  Champ-de-Mars,  where,  by  means  of 
circular  terraces,  they  were  about  to  form  a  gigantic 
amphitheatre,  whose  benches  would  seat  three  hun- 
dred thousand  spectators.  It  was  an  immense  piece 
of  work.  As  it  was  feared  that  they  might  not  be 
able  to  finish  it  by  July  14,  and  as  this  revolutionary 
date  was  deemed  essential,  the  districts,  in  the  name 
of  the  country,  invited  all  good  citizens  to  come  to 
the  aid  of  the  workmen  in  the  Champ-de-Mars  with 
shovels  and  wdieelbarrows.  This  invitation,  so  con- 
formable to  the  patriotic  ideas  of  the  time,  excited 
general  enthusiasm.  Through  fashion  and  infatua- 
tion, still  more  than  through  patriotism,  everybody 
saw  in  this  labor  both  a  pleasure  and  a  duty. 

According  to  Camille  Desmoulins,  the  day  which 
is  approaching  is  "  the  day  of  deliverance  from  Egyp- 
tian bondage,  and  the  crossing  of  the  Red  Sea;  it  is 
the  first  day  of  the  year  One  of  Liberty ;  it  is  the 
day  predicted  by  the  prophet  Ezekiel,  —  the  day  of 
destiny,  the  great  feast  of  the  lanterns."  Patriots  of 
all  classes,  men  and  women,  old  men  and  children, 
rich  and  poor  —  which  of  you  is  unwilling  to  aid  in 
making  ready  the  splendors  of  such  a  solemnity  ? 
Come  then,  one  and  all,  to  join  this  immense  band  of 
laborers  where,  as  the  Marquis  de  Ferridres  has  said. 


THE  FESTIVAL    OF  THE  FEBEBATION.  61 

"the  dishevelled  courtesan  finds  herself  next  to  a 
shamefaced  virgin  ;  where  the  Capuchin  hauls  a  dray 
with  the  chevalier  of  Saint  Louis,  the  porter  with  the 
coxcomb  from  the  Palais  Royal;  where  the  robust 
herring-woman  pushes  the  wheelbarrow  loaded  by  the 
fashionable  and  hypochondriacal  lady." 

"It  is  the  ballet  of  the  reunion  of  classes,"  says 
Camille  Desmoulins.  It  is  like  a  great  Flemish 
festival.  People  sing  while  they  work.  The  peram- 
bulating eating-houses,  the  portable  shops,  add  to  the 
animation  of  the  scene.  Do  you  hear  the  buffooneries, 
the  songs,  the  noise  of  drums  and  trumpets,  the 
spades,  the  wheelbarrows,  the  voices  of  the  laborers 
who  call  to  and  encourage  each  other  ?  Do  jow.  see 
these  Seminarists,  these  Carthusians,  who  have  left 
their  cloisters  to  come  to  this  civic  rendezvous  ?  Do 
you  see  these  marquises  who  take  off  their  gloves  to 
shake  hands  with  charcoal-dealers  ?  Tliey  say  that 
Saint  Just,  pushing  a  wheelbarrow,  met  the  Countess 
du  Barry,  with  a  shovel  in  her  hand.  A  disabled  sol- 
dier of  Louis  XIV.'s  day  is  working  with  his  wooden 
leg.  What  activity  reigns  amid  these  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  voluntary  laborers !  So  much  zeal 
ends  by  accomplishing  the  desired  result.  The  ter- 
races are  finished.  The  Champ-de-Mars  is  ready. 
How  the  patriots  rejoice  !  Behold  the  Fourteenth  of 
July,  the  great  day  ! 

The  Federates,  ranged  by  departments,  under 
eighty-three  banners,  have  been  assembled  since  day- 
break on  the  Place  de  la  Bastille.     Deputies,  soldiers 


62  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

of  the  line,  and  marine  troops,  the  Parisian  National 
Guard,  drummers,  bands  of  singers,  and  the  banners 
of  the  sections  open  and  close  the  march.  The 
immense  j^i'ocession  passes  through  the  streets  of 
Saint  Martin,  Saint  Denis,  and  Saint  Hon  ore.  On 
reaching  the  Tuileries,  its  ranks  are  swelled  by  the 
municipal  officials  and  the  Assembly.  It  passes  on 
through  the  Cours  la  Reine  and  enters  the  Champ-de- 
Mars  by  a  bridge  of  boats  which  has  been  constructed 
across  the  stream.  At  the  end  of  this  bridge  rises  a 
triumphal  arch,  on  which  may  be  read  the  following 
mottoes :  — 

"  We  fear  you  no  longer,  petty  tyrants, 
You  who  oppressed  us  under  a  hundred  different  names." 

"  The  rights  of  man  have  been  disregarded  for  centuries ; 
they  have  been  re-established  for  all  humanity." 

"  The  king  of  a  free  people  is  the  only  powerful  king." 

Another  motto  may  also  be  read,  which  will  not  be 
pondered  sufficiently :  — 

"  You  cherish  this  liberty,  you  possess  it  now ;  show  your- 
selves worthy  to  preserve  it." 

Three  hundred  thousand  spectators  are  crowded 
together  on  the  sides  of  the  amphitheatre.  They 
have  been  there  since  six  in  the  morning.  The 
weather  is  bad.  The  showers  produce  a  singular 
effect.  As  soon  as  it  begins  to  rain,  thousands  of 
different  colored  umbrellas  are  opened,  and  change 


THE  FESTIVAL   OF  THE  FEDERATION.  63 

the  aspect  of  tlie  terraces.  The  Federates,  dripping 
with  water  and  perspiration,  are  no  longer  gay  and  in 
high  spirits.  To  pass  away  the  time,  the  first  comers 
begin  a  Provengal  dance.  Those  who  follow  them 
join  in,  and  form  a  circle  which  soon  embraces  a  large 
portion  of  the  Champ-de-Mars.  Not  contented  with 
dancing,  the  Federates  engage  in  mock  combats ; 
cities  against  country  places,  departments  against  de- 
partments, ProvenQaux  against  Flemings,  Lorrainers 
against  Bretons.  These  little  wars  terminate  in  fra- 
ternal embraces.  Then  the  dances  begin  again,  bet- 
ter than  ever. 

The  delighted  spectators  beat  time,  and  applaud. 
The  foreigners  cry,  "Look  at  these  devils  of  French- 
men who  dance  while  it  is  raining  fast."  Who  cares 
for  bad  weather  when  the  sun  in  the  heart  is  shining? 
Finally,  the  entire  procession  is  about  to  enter  the 
Champ-de-Mars.  The  games  cease,  and  every  Feder- 
ate returns  to  his  own  banner. 

The  circumference  of  the  circus,  on  the  side  of  the 
buildings  of  the  Military  School,  is  closed  by  a  large 
covered  gallery,  ornamented  with  blue  and  gold 
hangings,  in  the  midst  of  which  is  a  pavilion  intended 
for  the  King.  Behind  the  throne  is  a  private  box  for 
the  Queen,  the  Dauphin,  and  the  Princesses  of  the 
royal  family.  The  sovereign  being  no  longer  more 
than  half  a  sovereign,  until  the  time  should  come 
when  he  would  not  be  even  that,  there  had  been 
placed  beside  his  throne,  and  about  three  feet  distant, 
another   armchair   of    the    same    size,    covered   with 


64  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

azure  velvet,  sown  with  golden  lilies:  it  was  destined 
for  the  President  of  the  National  Assembly.  A  vast 
altar  rose  in  the  middle  of  the  immense  space  encir- 
cled by  the  amphitheatre.  It  was  twenty-five  feet 
high.  It  was  ascended  by  four  staircases  terminating 
in  a  platform,  where  incense  was  burned  in  antique 
vases.  On  the  south  front  of  this  altar  these  two 
distichs  might  be  read  :  — 

"  Mortals  are  equal ;  it  is  not  their  birth, 
It  is  their  virtue  differences  their  worth." 

"  Throughout  the  State,  the  Law  should  reign  supreme, 
Equal,  to  her,  are  men,  howe'er  they  seem." 

On  the  opposite  side  angels  were  represented,  sound- 
ing trumpets  bearing  these  inscriptions  :  — 

r 

"  Consider  these  three  sacred  words :  the  Nation,  the  Law, 
the  King.  The  Nation  is  You.  The  Law,  again,  is  You.  The 
King  is  the  guardian  of  the  Law." 

On  the  side  facing  the  Seine  might  be  distin- 
guished an  image  of  Liberty,  and  a  Genius  hovering 
in  the  air  with  a  pennon  on  which  was  written, 
"  Constitution." 

Three  hundred  priests,  vested  in  white  albs,  and 
wearing  tricolored  scarfs,  cover  the  steps  of  the 
altar.  Talleyrand,  Bishop  of  Autun,  and  a  member 
of  the  National  Assembly,  is  about  to  say  the  Mass. 
The  office  begins.  Fortunately,  the  clouds  disperse, 
and  the  sun  comes  out.     Chants,  military  music,  and 


THE  FESTIVAL   OF  THE  FEDERATION.  65 

salvos  of  artillery  mingle  with  the  bishop's  voice.  At 
the  Elevation  the  drums  beat  a  salute ;  the  trumpets 
sound;  the  whole  crowd  are  on  their  knees.  The 
Mass  ended,  Lafayette  dismounts  from  his  white 
horse,  and  walks  over  to  the  galleries  where  the 
King,  the  royal  family,  the  Ministers,  and  the  mem- 
bers of  the  National  Assembly  are  seated,  and  ascend- 
ing the  fifty  steps  leading  to  the  throne  of  Louis  XVL, 
receives  the  commands  of  the  sovereign,  who  hands 
to  him  the  formula  of  the  appointed  oath.  Turning 
afterwards  toward  the  altar,  Lafayette  lays  his  sword 
upon  it,  and,  going  up  to  its  most  elevated  point,  he 
gives  the  signal  for  the  oath  by  waving  a  flag  in  air. 

The  hundred  pieces  of  artillery,  the  two  thousand 
brass  instruments,  the  liundreds  of  thousands  of 
spectators,  all  are  silent.  In  this  religious  silence 
one  voice  alone  is  heard :  the  voice  of  Lafayette. 
Laying  one  hand  on  his  heart,  and  lifting  the  other 
toward  heaven,  he  pronounces  these  words :  "  We 
swear  to  be  always  faithful  to  the  nation,  the  law, 
and  the  King;  to  maintain  with  all  our  power  the 
Constitution  decreed  by  the  National  Assembly,  and 
accepted  by  the  King ;  to  protect,  comformably  with 
the  laws,  the  security  of  j^erson  and  property,  the 
traffic  in  grains  and  other  provisions  in  the  interior 
of  the  kingdom,  the  collection  of  public  taxes  under 
whatever  form  they  exist,  and  to  remain  united  to 
all  Frenchmen  by  the  indissoluble  ties  of  fraternity." 

Then  all  arms  are  flung  up,  all  swords  brandished, 
and  an  immense  cry  breaks  forth:  "I  swear  it."    The 


6Q  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

artillery  of  neighboring  municipalities  announces  the 
oath  to  more  distant  ones,  which,  in  their  turn,  trans- 
mit it  in  like  manner,  and  with  lightning  swiftness, 
to  the  very  extremities  of  France :  to  France  trans- 
formed in  an  instant  into  an  immense  Champ-de- 
Mars,  where  twenty-five  millions  of  French  Federates 
swear,  at  the  same  moment,  to  defend  the  law,  to  be 
faithful  to  the  sovereign,  and  to  live  and  die  for 
their  country.  Louis  XVI.  rises  and  pronounces 
these  words  in  a  strong  voice :  "  I,  King  of  the 
French,  swear  to  employ  the  power  delegated  to  me 
by  the  constitutional  act  of  the  State,  in  maintaining 
the  Constitution  decreed  by  the  National  Assembly, 
and  by  me  accepted."  The  Queen  takes  the  Dauphin 
in  her  arms,  and,  presenting  him  to  the  people, 
"  Behold  my  son,"  says  she ;  "  he  joins,  as  I  do,  in 
the  same  sentiments."  From  every  breast  break  forth 
these  cries,  repeated  with  wild  enthusiasm :  "  Long 
live  the  King !  Long  live  the  Queen !  Long  live 
Monseigneur  the  Dauphin  1 "  The  weather  is  com- 
pletely settled.  No  more  clouds ;  the  sun  shines  in 
full  splendor. 

Who  would  not  feel  his  hopes  revive  in  presence 
of  this  colossal  demonstration,  this  delirium  of  good- 
will and  reconciliation  ?  Optimism  is  in  the  air.  It 
is  an  irresistible  current.  How  can  one  be  severe  on 
the  generous  illusions  of  the  unfortunate  Louis  XVI., 
remembering  that  these  illusions  were  not  his  alone, 
but  those  of  a  whole  nation  ?  At  this  hour  the  mon- 
archy is  regarded  as  the  best  of  republics.     People 


THE  FESTIVAL    OF  THE  FEDEEATION.  67 

fall  into  ecstasies  over  the  merits  and  virtues  of  the 
patriot-King.  It  is  like  a  picture  by  Greuze  which 
should  suddenly  become  an  incommensurable  fresco. 
One  might  say  that  the  old  regime  and  the  Revolu- 
tion, reconciled  once  for  all,  are  exchanging  the  kiss 
of  peace,  and  pressing  each  other  in  a  cordial  embrace. 
Brethren  uniting  tenderly  around  an  exemplary  father 
of  a  family,  —  such  was  the  tableau  presented  by  the 
Champ-de-Mars.  Woe  to  him,  who,  in  this  innumer- 
able multitude,  should  venture  a  single  word  of  doubt 
concerning  the  future !  Woe  to  him  who  would  have 
the  temerity  to  disbelieve  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
age  of  gold  ! 

A  Te  Deum  with  full  orchestra  is  about  to  termi- 
nate the  ceremony.  It  is  five  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. The  Federates  go  in  good  order  to  the  chateau 
of  La  Muette,  where  a  grand  banquet,  served  in  the 
alleys  of  the  park,  is  awaiting  them.  Out  of  bed- 
from  dawn  to  midnight,  they  have  walked  from  their 
homes  to  the  Place  de  la  Bastille,  from  there  to 
the  Champ-de-Mars,  from  the  Champ-de-]\Iars  to  La 
Muette,  from  La  Muette  back  to  their  lodgings. 
They  have  danced,  cried,  sung,  and  been  drenched 
with  torrents  of  rain ;  and  still  they  are  enthusiastic, 
rapt  to  the  seventh  heaven.  It  must  be  admitted 
that  this  vigorous  generation,  which,  some  years  later, 
was  to  perform  so  many  brilliant  deeds,  so  many 
prodigies  on  every  battle-field  of  Europe,  braves  fa- 
tigue and  danger  with  an  ardor  and  animation  which 
excuse  many  faults. 


68  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

The  rejoicings  lasted  for  several  days.  At  the 
Barriere  de  I'Etoile  the  King  held  a  grand  review. 
The  Queen  was  present  in  an  open  carriage  with  the 
Dauphin  and  Madame  Elisabeth.  She  spoke  with  ex- 
quisite politeness  to  all  who  approached  her,  and  more 
than  one  Federate  had  the  honor  of  kissing  her  hand. 
In  the  evening,  the  municipality  gave  a  grand  popu- 
lar fete.  The  two  principal  points  of  reunion  were 
on  the  Place  de  la  Bastille  and  the  Champs-Elysees. 
Where  the  former  prison  had  stood  there  was  a  ball, 
and  this  inscription:  "Dancing  here."  In  the  even- 
ing no  carriages  could  pass.  Everybody  was  obliged 
to  go  on  foot.  Everybody  was  happy  to  show  that 
he  belonged  to  the  people. 

The  Champs-Elysees  presented  a  fairy-like  aspect, 
with  its  lights  depending  from  every  tree,  its  wreaths 
of  lanterns,  its  pyramids  of  flame.  "  It  was  at  the 
Champs-Elysdes,"  said  the  Marquis  de  Ferri^res,  "that 
sensible  men  took  most  satisfaction  in  the  fete.  The 
citizen,  with  his  family,  ate,  chatted,  walked  about, 
and  was  agreeably  conscious  of  his  existence.  Young 
girls  and  boys  were  dancing  to  the  music  of  bands 
placed  here  and  there  in  open  spaces  among  the 
trees.  ...  A  sweet  and  sentimental  joy  visible  on 
all  faces,  and  shining  in  every  eye,  recalled  the  placid 
enjoyment  of  happy  shades  in  the  Elysian  fields  of 
the  ancients.  The  white  garments  of  a  multitude  of 
women  straying  amid  the  trees  of  these  fine  avenues 
added  to  the  illusion." 

O  dreams  too  swiftly  vanished!     Chimeras  which 


TEE  FESTIVAL   OF  THE  FEDERATION.  69 

the  terrible  reality  will  j)resently  cause  to  disappear ! 
Strange  festivals  where  reconciliation  lies  on  the  sur- 
face while  hatred  and  passion  live  still  within  the 
depths.  Envy  and  rancor  pierce  through  these  idyls, 
these  gigantic  eclogues.     People  sing  the  Ca  ira :  — 

"  (^'a  ira,  pa  ira, 
To  the  lamp-posts  with  the  aristocrats ; 

Ca  ira,  ^a  ira, 
The  aristocrats,  we'll  hang  them  all !  " 

A  sagacious  observer  might  readily  have  foreseen 
that  to  the  three  words,  Liberty,  Equality,  Fra- 
ternity, there  would  speedily  be  added  this  conclu- 
sion of  the  formula  :  "  Or  Death."  The  Mass  was 
preceded  by  a  dance.  No  doubt  the  patriots  reminded 
each  other  that  David  danced  before  the  ark.  Why 
should  not  they  dance  before  the  altar  of  the  Federa- 
tion? No  matter!  This  mixture  of  patriotism  and 
religion  makes  a  poor  alloy.  Such  an  ecclesiastic  as 
the  Bishop  of  Autun  seems  hardly  the  man  to 
invoke  the  blessings  of  the  Lord  upon  the  crowds 
assembled  in  the  Champ-de-Mars.  There  is  more 
mythology  than  Christianity  in  the  whole  affair. 

Optimists,  do  not  rejoice !  Yet  a  little  while,  and 
these  honest  royalists,  these  tender-hearted  people, 
who  come  with  the  Federates  of  Bdarn  to  shed  tears 
of  filial  tenderness  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of  Henri 
IV".,  will  be  howling  with  rage  around  the  scaffold 
of  his  descendant. 

Who  are  the  three  men  that  come  most  noticeably 
to  the  front  in  the  fete  of  the  Champ-de-Mars  ?     A 


70  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

king,  a  general,  and  a  bishop.  The  king  is  the  future 
martyr ;  the  general,  the  future  prisoner  of  Olmutz ; 
the  bishop  is  the  future  exile,  the  priest  who  throws 
away  his  chasuble,  cross,  and  mitre.  The  Mass  cele- 
brated by  this  pontiff  will  not  bring  good  fortune 
either  to  Louis  XVI.  or  to  France  ! 


IX. 


MIRABEAU'S   DOUBLE   ROLE. 


MIRABEAU'S  interview  with  Marie  Antoinette 
had  made  a  profound  impression  on  him. 
The  royal  vision  remained  in  his  eyes  and  in  his 
heart  as  a  kind  of  bewildering  dream.  He  wept 
with  remorse  when  he  thought  that  formerly  he  might 
have  been  esteemed  the  enemy  of  this  beautiful  sov- 
ereign. He  wept  with  joy  in  reminding  liimself  that 
thenceforward  he  would  be  her  knight,  her  defender. 
Certain  suspicions  concerning  this  sudden  conver- 
sion of  the  famous  tribune  got  into  circulation.  An 
article  published  in  a  daily  paper,  L' OrateAir  du 
Peuple^  accused  him  of  having  gone  to  Saint  Cloud, 
and  insinuated  that  he  must  have  seen  the  Queen. 
Mirabeau  admitted  that  he  had  left  Paris  to  pay  a 
visit  to  his  niece,  Madame  d'Aragon,  but  declared 
that  the  alleged  interview  at  Saint  Cloud  was  purely 
imaginary.  Things  rested  there,  although  for  several 
days  accounts  of  the  "  Great  treason  of  Count  Mira- 
beau" were  hawked  about  the  streets  of  Paris. 

To  kindle  and  extinoj-uish  conflaofrations,  to  unchain 
and  quiet  tempests,  to  be  by  turns  revolutionists  and 

71 


72  MAEIE  ANTOINETTE. 

conservatives,  destroyers  and  preservers,  is  the  dream 
of  ambitious  men  who  imagine  themselves  able  to 
play  with  human  passions  like  an  Indian  juggler 
with  his  bowls,  and  who  frequently  believe  them- 
selves the  masters  of  events  when  in  reality  they 
are  merely  their  slaves.  During  several  months  it 
was  possible  for  Mirabeau  to  play  a  double  part 
without  being  unmasked;  but  had  he  lived  longer, 
the  deception  could  not  have  been  kept  up,  and  the 
great  man,  driven  into  a  corner,  would  have  been 
forced  to  make  his  choice  between  the  two  selves  — 
the  royalist  and  the  tribune  —  that  were  incarnated 
in  him. 

All  energetic  men,  no  matter  who  they  may  be, 
have  the  governing  instinct,  and  their  aim,  if  they 
hope  to  arrive  at  power,  is  order  and  domination. 
Revolution  is  not  an  end,  but  a  means  to  most  great 
agitators,  and  there  are  few  demagogues  who  do  not 
long  to  be  all-powerful.  Mirabeau's  ideal  was  to 
become  the  strong  and  influential  minister  of  an 
undisputed  king,  crushing  all  resistance  with  his 
iron  hand,  and  saying  with  an  absolute  voice  to  the 
revolutionary  flood :  "  Thou  shalt  go  no  further." 

A  socialist  journal,  published  at  Verviers,  calls 
itself  The  Mirabeau.  This  journal  is  doubtless  not 
well  acquainted  with  the  part  assumed  by  the  great 
tribune  during  the  last  months  of  his  life.  I  suspect 
that  the  democrats  of  our  day  would  not  feel  dis- 
posed to  approve  the  ideas  and  principles  he  pro- 
fessed.    It  is  rather  singular  to  recall  how  the  great- 


MIRABEAWS  DOUBLE  BOLE.  73 

est  orator  of  the  French  Revolution  judged  Paris, 
the  National  Assembly,  and  the  National  Guard,  if 
not  in  the  tribune,  at  least  in  the  privacy  of  his  con- 
science. 

Desire  for  a  reaction  went  to  the  length  of  Machi- 
avellianism in  the  mind  of  the  tribune,  now  become 
the  secret  agent  of  the  court.  lie  wished  to  lay 
snares  for  the  Assembly,  and  make  it  the  victim  of 
its  own  faults  and  outrages.  He  even  became  a  dis- 
ciple of  that  school  which,  in  all  epochs  of  disorder, 
expresses  the  hope  that  good  must  be  born  from  the 
excess  of  evil.  He  had  two  policies,  two  faces.  He 
lived  a  double  life,  —  the  revolutionist  on  this  side, 
the  royalist  on  that.  The  equilibrium  he  continued 
to  preserve  between  them  was  almost  miraculous. 
There  was  so  much  force,  skill,  and  eloquence  in  this 
powerful  actor,  that  even  his  adversaries  dared  not 
suspect  him.  His  popularity  was  like  a  sturdy  oak 
which  defies  wind  and  lightning. 

Nevertheless,  this  double  part  has  something  essen- 
tially disagreeable  about  it.  When  one  thinks  of  the 
man  who  had  just  fulminated  demagogic  invectives 
in  the  tribune,  returning  to  his  own  house,  and  sitting 
down  in  private  to  write  his  communications  to  the 
court,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  distressed  by  a  du- 
plicity which  would  have  needed  to  be  unhired  in 
order  to  be  excused.  Assuredl}"  ^lirabeau  pursued 
a  plan  approved  by  his  conscience.  But,  for  all  that, 
he  remains,  in  spite  of  all  his  genius  and  his  glory,  a 
man  who  was  obliged  to  skulk,  who  received  hush- 


74  MAEIE  ANTOINETTE. 


money,  who  would  have  been  ruined  completely  in 
public  opinion  if  his  writings  and  his  actions  had  sud- 
denly been  made  known.  Like  all  talented  men  whose 
conscience  troubles  them,  he  was  at  once  haughty  and 
humble ;  haughty  when  he  was  on  view  before  men, 
humble  when  he  entered  within  himself.  His  Atlas 
shoulders,  huge  and  powerful  as  they  were,  bent 
under  the  intolerable  burden  of  his  double  part. 
He  would  have  liked  to  be  himself  before  God  and 
men. 

Let  us  interrogate  the  depths  of  his  soul.  Let  us 
see  him  as  he  is.  Let  us  ask  his  opinions  of  men 
and  things.  Parisians,  this  is  what  he  has  to  say  of 
your  city,  so  well  satisfied  with  itself :  "  Never  were 
so  many  combustible  elements  and  inflammable  mate- 
rials brought  together  on  a  single  hearth.  A  hun- 
dred scribblers  whose  sole  resource  is  disorder,  a 
multitude  of  insubordinate  strangers  who  kindle  dis- 
cord in  all  public  j)laces,  ...  all  that  is  most  cor- 
rupt in  both  extremes,  —  the  dregs  of  the  nation  and 
the  most  elevated  classes, — and  this  is  Paris.  This 
city  knows  its  strength.  It  has  exercised  it  by  turns 
on  the  army,  the  King,  the  Ministers,  and  the  Assem- 
bly. It  is  certain  that  Paris  is  the  last  city  in  the 
kingdom  to  which  peace  will  be  restored.  It  is  neces- 
sary, therefore,  to  destroy  its  influence  in  the  prov- 
inces, to  make  its  projects  dreaded,  to  show  the 
expenses  of  every  sort  which  it  occasions,  and  to 
make  the  people  desire  that  a  second  legislative  body 
shall  be  placed  in  a  city  where  its  independence  and 


MIEABEAU' S  DOUBLE  ROLE.  75 

the  King's  liberty  will  be  more  secure."  (4Tth  Note 
to  the  Court,  December  23,  1790.) 

Partisans  of  the  National  Guard,  listen  to  what 
Mirabeau  has  to  say  in  the  same  note  of  that  insti- 
tution :  "  I  consider  the  National  Guard  of  Paris  as 
an  obstacle  to  the  restoration  of  order.  .  .  .  This 
troop  is  too  numerous  to  have  any  esprit  de  corps^ 
too  closely  united  to  the  citizens  ever  to  resist  them, 
too  easy  to  corrupt,  not  in  masses,  but  as  individuals, 
not  to  be  an  instrument  always  ready  to  serve  the 
seditious." 

You  who  respect  the  parliamentary  system  so 
greatly,  do  you  wish  to  know  how  Mirabeau  thought 
the  National  Assembly  should  be  treated?  In  the 
same  note  he  writes :  "  I  have  already  pointed  out 
several  ways  of  attacking  the  Assembly.  They  may 
be  reduced  chiefly  to  these  :  Let  it  issue  every  decree 
which  may  increase  the  number  of  malcontents ;  in- 
cite it  to  destroy  the  rural  municipalities,  to  change 
the  organizations  of  those  of  cities,  and  to  put  a  check 
on  the  administration  of  departments ;  get  up  popu- 
lar petitions  to  it  on  points  known  to  be  out  of  har- 
mony with  its  principles ;  push  it  further  toward 
usurping  all  powers ;  make  its  discussions  bear  on 
unimportant  topics ;  have  the  minority  introduce  the 
most  popular  motions,  so  that  they  may  be  thrown 
out  or  modified ;  prolong  the  session  until  the  abuses 
of  the  new  judiciary  order,  and  the  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  imposing  taxes,  shall  become  thoroughly 
known ;  acquaint  it  every  day  with  the  obstructions 


76  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

which  hinder  the  execution  of  its  laws,  and  demand 
that  it  shall  explain  them  itself;  and,  in  fine,  neglect 
at  the  same  time  no  opportunity  to  augment  the  pop- 
ularity of  the  Queen  and  the  King.  There  is  no 
room  for  hesitation ;  if  this  Assembly  runs  its  course 
triumphantly,  the  state  of  public  opinion  permits  no 
further  hope." 

The  devoted  agent  of  the  court,  Mirabeau  thus 
insists  on  the  importance  of  the  advice  he  gives  it :  — 

"  Everything  may  be  hoped  if  my  plan  is  adopted ; 
and  if  it  is  not,  if  this  last  plank  of  safety  escapes  us, 
there  is  no  misfortune,  from  individual  assassinations 
to  pillage,  from  the  downfall  of  the  throne  to  the 
dissolution  of  the  empire,  which  may  not  be  antici- 
pated. What  other  resource  exists  except  this  plan  ? 
Is  not  the  ferocity  of  the  people  increasing  by  de- 
grees ?  Are  they  not  being  induced  to  hope  for  the 
division  of  property  ?  .  .  .  Could  frenzy  and  fanati- 
cism be  pushed  to  a  higher  point  than  they  are  in 
the  National  Assembly  ?  Unhappy  nation  !  Behold 
whither  you  have  been  led  by  men  who  have  put 
intrigue  in  the  place  of  talent !  Honest  but  feeble 
King!  unfortunate  Queen!  look  down  into  the 
frightful  abyss  to  which  your  fluctuations  between 
a  too  blind  confidence  and  an  exaggerated  distrust 
have  conducted  you !  One  effort  can  still  be  made 
by  each  of  you;  but  it  is  the  last.  If  it  is  not 
attempted,  or  if  it  fails,  a  funereal  pall  is  about  to 
envelop  this  em^^ire.  What  will  be  its  destiny? 
Whither  will  drift  this  vessel,  struck  by  the  lightning 


MIBABEAU'S  DOUBLE  ROLE.  77 


and  beaten  by  the  storm  ?  I  do  not  know ;  but  if  I 
make  my  own  escape  from  the  public  wreck,  I  shall 
always  say  with  pride  in  my  retirement,  'I  exposed 
myself  to  ruin  in  order  to  save  them  all,  and  they 
would  not.' " 

We  have  just  seen  in  Mirabeau  the  extreme  con- 
servative, the  ardent  reactionist,  the  man  of  order, 
discipline,  authority,  the  zealous,  convinced,  enthu- 
siastic royalist.  And  yet  in  the  tribune  it  still 
often  happened  to  him  to  display  revolutionary  sen- 
timents. If  there  was  talk  of  hoisting  the  tricolor 
instead  of  the  white  flag  upon  the  government  ves- 
sels, or  of  the  pillage  of  the  Hotel  de  Castries  by 
the  people,  or  some  other  burning  question,  the  dema- 
gogue, the  agitator,  reappeared  at  once.  Intoxicated 
by  the  applause  which  greeted  his  fiery  harangues, 
he  became  again  the  idol  of  the  multitude,  and  de- 
lighted in  his  popularity.  Like  great  actors  who  play 
successively  two  different  parts  with  equal  talent  and 
conviction,  he  forgot  perhaps,  for  a  moment,  that  he 
was  a  reactionist,  an  enemy  of  the  National  Assem- 
bly, a  secret  agent  of  the  Tuileries.  He  was  like 
those  consummate  advocates,  who  feel  they  possess 
sufficient  address  and  eloquence  to  argue  both  their 
own  cause  and  the  opposing  one.  There  was  room 
in  this  exuberant  and  fiery  nature  for  both  the  Revo- 
lution and  the  counter-revolution.  He  was  the  engine 
and  the  brake,  the  torrent  and  the  dike. 

0  powerful  orator,  amuse  yourself  with  your 
genius!     May  your  eloquence  give  you,  if   not  the 


78  3IABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

joys  of  a  patriot,  at  least  those  of  an  artist !  Win  the 
ap23lause  of  this  Assembly  which  hardly  susjpects  that 
you  are  the  man  who  most  opposes  it !  Listen  to 
yourself  talk  I  May  the  majesty  of  your  voice  en- 
chant your  own  ears  !  May  the  captivating  influence 
of  your  discourse  carry  you  away  from  earth !  All 
this  will  not  last  much  longer.  Both  you  and  the 
monarchy  are  condemned  to  a  speedy  end.  Your 
popularity  can  accomplish  nothing  for  the  welfare  of 
France.  You,  who  hardly  desire  anything  but  storms 
and  shipwrecks,  strive  vainly  to-day  to  play  the  j)ilot. 
The  sea  is  too  rough,  the  tempest  too  formidable,  and 
you  can  no  more  reason  with  the  Revolution  than 
with  the  dead.  Let  the  crew  tremble,  then !  You 
try  in  vain  to  save  them.     It  is  too  late. 


X. 


THE   DEPARTURE   OF   THE   KING'S   AUNTS. 


A  BREACH  had  opened  in  the  ranks  of  the 
King's  adherents.  The  most  ardent  supporters 
of  the  monarchy  were  no  longer  at  hand  to  defend  it. 
Through  a  mistaken  notion  of  honor,  the  royalists 
gloried  in  abandoning  their  sovereign,  the  military  in 
deserting  the  field  of  battle.  The  court  ladies  despised 
the  young  men  who  would  not  emigrate.  The  nobility 
departed  as  if  for  a  rendezvous  of  j)tatriotism  and 
monarchical  fidelity.  Those  who  remained  in  France 
hardly  dared  to  show  themselves.  Great  ladies  sent 
them  distaffs,  symbols  of  cowardice.  People  emi- 
grated through  vanity,  or  conceit,  or  because  it  was 
the  fashion.  It  was  said  that  the  King's  brothers 
knew  better  than  any  one  what  comported  with  his 
service,  and  that,  if  they  had  thought  it  right  to 
betake  themselves  to  foreign  lands,  the  place  of  the 
faithful  nobility  was  also  there.  It  was  added  that 
all  that  would  be  necessary  to  crush  the  impertinent 
Revolution,  was  to  show  one's  crest.  *'It  will  last 
about  two  weeks,"  said  the  earliest  fugitives. 

Louis   XVL,    always*  weak  and   fluctuating,    had 

79 


80  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

neither  the  courage  to  approve  nor  to  disavow  the 
emigration.  Officially,  he  condemned  it,  but  at  bot- 
tom he  hoped  to  make  it  useful.  He  had  in  it  not 
merely  relatives,  friends,  and  servants,  but  agents. 
It  inspired  him  by  turns  with  fear  and  sympathy. 
Sometimes  he  saw  a  danger  in  it,  and  again  a  last 
chance  of  safety.  At  one  moment  he  criticised  the 
emigrants,  at  another  he  would  have  been  glad  to  be 
among  them.  The  sovereign,  perhaps,  treated  them  as 
conspirators,  but  the  man,  the  husband,  and  the  father 
told  himself  that  these  conspirators  might  well  become 
the  saviours  of  his  wife  and  children.  Not  knowing 
clearly  what  he  wished,  the  unfortunate  monarch  was 
drawn  in  different  directions.  It  happened  to  him, 
the  best  and  most  well-intentioned  man  in  the  king- 
dom, to  play  a  double  part,  and  to  incarnate  in  him- 
self two  kings,  —  the  king  of  the  tricolor  and  the 
king  of  the  white  flag.  Ah !  woe  to  the  epochs 
when  the  notion  of  right  becomes  obscured,  when 
conscience,  virtue,  and  patriotism,  being  interrogated, 
know  not  what  to  answer !  Happy  the  people  among 
whom  one  may  serve  his  country  regularly  and  with- 
out hesitation,  where  duty  is  precise,  incontestable, 
and  uncontested,  where  the  same  fact  is  not  at  the 
same  time  characterized  as  loyal  and  as  criminal,  as 
fidelity  and  as  treason  ! 

Even  while  disavowing  the  emigration,  the  court 
was  in  secret  relations  with  it.  That  was  what 
caused  the  uneasy  suspicions  which  disquieted  the 
multitude  and  made  them  cast  anxious  glances  across 


THE  BEPABTURE  OF  THE  KIXG'S  AUNTS.      81 

the  frontiers.  They  had  a  presentiment  that  Louis 
XVI.  would  flee  from  Paris,  and  the  very  people 
who  rendered  the  royal  family  so  unhappy  could  not 
become  accustomed  to  the  idea  of  seeing  them  go 
away.  This  explains  the  extreme  excitement  felt 
when  the  King's  aunts  left  Bellevue  to  go  to  Rome. 
No  one  cared  much  about  these  Princesses;  they  lived 
in  a  sort  of  retirement  and  took  no  part  in  politics. 
But  it  was  feared  lest  their  departure  might  prove 
the  signal  for  that  of  the  King  and  Queen.  More- 
over, the  resolution  adopted  by  the  ladies  resulted  in 
recalling  public  attention  to  the  emigration,  that 
burning  question  which  was  one  of  those  that  most 
inflamed  the  imagination  of  the  people. 

Mesdames  Adelaide  and  Victoire,  daughters  of  Louis 
XV.,  and  aunts  of  Louis  XVI.,  had  essaved  to  make 
themselves  forgotten  from  the  beginning  of  the  Revo- 
lution. Thev  lived  in  a  retired  manner  at  their  chateau 
of  Bellevue,  occupying  themselves  solely  in  works  of 
charity,  but  regretting  the  old  regime  and  sharing  all 
the  ideas  of  the  emigrants.  Like  their  father,  they 
had  a  horror  of  newfangled  opinions,  and  whether 
in  religion  or  politics,  were  profoundly  devoted  to 
retrograde  principles.  When  the  Revolution  grew 
more  pronounced,  it  became  insupportable  to  them  to 
remain  in  France.  Thev  had  onlv  one  idea,  —  to 
quit  a  country  polluted  by  disorder,  and  go  to  Rome 
to  kneel  in  the  basilica  of  Saint  Peter,  to  meditate 
and  pray. 

Louis  XVI.   did  not  think  it  right  to  oppose  his 


82  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

aunts'  desire.  Their  passports  were  signed,  and  Car- 
dinal de  Bernis,  the  French  Ambassador  to  Rome,  was 
notified  of  their  speedy  arrival.  They  were  about  to 
start,  when,  on  February  3,  1791,  an  anonymous  inti- 
mation of  their  intention  was  sent  to  the  Jacobin 
Club.  Alarm,  fury  against  the  court,  patriotic  rage, 
was  the  immediate  result.  A  deputation  from  the 
municipal  body  went  to  the  Assembly  and  to  the 
Tuileries  to  make  complaint.  ''I  have  already  ex- 
plained to  the  municipality,"  said  Louis  XVL,  "  that 
my  aunts,  being  their  own  mistresses,  have  the  right 
to  go  wherever  they  please.  I  know  their  hearts  too 
well  to  believe  that  any  one  need  borrow  any  trouble 
concerning  the  motives  of  their  journey." 

The  shrews  of  the  Palais  Royal,  who  assembled  in 
the  garden  every  evening,  agreed  to  go  oi^t  to  Belle- 
vue  together  and  prevent  the  departure  of  the  Prin- 
cesses. The  ladies,  warned  of  the  approach  of  these 
menacing  hordes,  went  at  once,  without  waiting  to 
finish  their  preparations.  In  the  evening  of  Febru- 
ary 19  they  abruptly  quitted  the  chateau,  in  the  car- 
riage of  a  lady  who  had  come  to  pay  them  a  visit. 
When  the  women  from  Paris  arrived,  their  rage  at 
finding  the  chateau  empty  was  extreme.  They 
wanted  at  least  to  avenge  themselves,  by  preventing 
the  departure  of  the  baggage  wagons.  General  Alex- 
andre Berthier  (the  future  Prince  of  Wagram)  put  a 
stop  to  this.  But  he  allowed  them  to  enter  the  apart- 
ments, empty  the  cellars,  and  loll  on  the  beds  of  the 
Princesses. 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF  THE  KING'S  AUNTS.      83 

The  language  of  the  Revolutionary  journals  was  a 
medley  of  anger  and  disdain.  The  Chronique  de 
Paris  published  this  sarcastic  article  :  — 

''  Two  Princesses,  sedentary  by  condition,  age,  and 
taste,  are  suddenly  possessed  by  a  mania  for  travelling 
and  running  about  the  world.  That  is  singular,  but 
possible.  They  are  going,  so  people  say,  to  kiss  the 
Pope's  slipper.     That  is  droll,  but  edifying. 

"  Thirty-two  sections  and  all  good  citizens  get 
between  them  and  Rome.     That  is  very  simple. 

''  The  Ladies,  and  especially  Madame  Adelaide, 
want  to  exercise  the  rights  of  man.     That  is  natural. 

"  They  do  not  go,  they  say,  with  intentions  op- 
posed to  those  of  the  Revolution.  That  is  possible, 
but  difficult. 

"  The  fair  travellers  are  followed  by  a  train  of 
eighty  persons.  That  is  fine.  But  they  carry  away 
twelve  millions.     That  is  very  ugly. 

"  They  need  change  of  air.  That  is  the  custom. 
But  this  removal  disturbs  their  creditors.  That  is 
also  the  custom. 

"  They  burn  to  travel  (the  desire  of  young  girls  is 
a  devouring  fire).  That  is  the  custom.  People  burn 
to  keep  them  at  home.     That  is  also  the  custom." 

The  Sahbats  Jacobites  used  still  more  ironical  lan- 
guage.    It  said :  — 

"  The  Ladies  are  going  to  Italy  to  try  the  power 
of  their  tears  and  their  charms  upon  the  princes  of 
that  country.  Already  the  Grand  Master  of  Malta 
has  caused  Madame  Adelaide  to  be  informed  that  he 


84  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

will  give  her  his  heart  and  hand  as  soon  as  she  has 
quitted  France,  and  that  she  may  count  upon  the 
assistance  of  three  galleys  and  forty-eight  cavaliers, 
young  and  old.  Our  Holy  Father  undertakes  to 
marry  Victoire  and  promises  her  his  army  of  three 
hundred  men  to  bring  about  a  counter-revolution." 

The  journey  of  the  Ladies  was  painful.  At  Moret 
people  wished  to  arrest  them,  and  cried,  "  To  the 
lamp-post !  "  It  was  owing  to  the  protection  of  some 
cavaliers  belonging  to  the  Lorraine  Chasseurs  that 
they  were  able  to  continue  their  route.  February  21, 
at  the  moment  of  entering  Arnay-le-Duc,  they  were 
made  prisoners  by  the  municipality  of  the  town,  who 
determined  to  keep  them  until  the  National  Assembly 
should  have  decided  whether  or  not  they  might  con- 
tinue their  journey.  The  question  was  taken  to  Paris, 
in  the  name  of  the  municipality  of  Arnay-le-Duc,  by 
one  of  the  town  officials,  and  M.  de  Narbonne,  on  be- 
half of  the  Princesses.  While  awaiting  a  solution, 
the  two  Princesses  were  confined  in  a  miserable 
room  in  a  tavern. 

The  National  Assembly  discussed  the  matter.  M. 
de  Narbonne,  their  chevalier  of  honor,  pleaded  the 
cause  of  the  Ladies  very  skilfully.  "  The  welfare  of 
the  people,"  said  Mirabeau,  ''cannot  depend  on  the 
journey  the  Ladies  undertake  to  Rome ;  while  they 
are  promenading  near  the  places  where  the  Capitol 
once  stood,  nothing  prevents  the  edifice  of  our  lib- 
erty from  rising  to  its  utmost  height."  The  debate 
was   ended  by    Count    de    Menou,   who   exclaimed: 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF  THE  KING'S  AUNTS.      85 

"Europe  will  doubtless  be  much  astonished,  when  it 
learns  that  the  National  Assembly  of  France  spent 
four  entire  hours  in  deliberating  on  the  departure  of 
two  ladies  who  would  rather  hear  Mass  in  Home  than 
m  raris. 

Conformably  with  iMirabeau's  advice,  the  National 
Assembly  declared  that  the  Ladies  were  at  liberty  to 
depart.  At  Arnay-le-Duc  there  was  a  riot.  The  pop- 
ulace were  unwilling  to  accept  the  decision  of  the 
Assembly.  The  Princesses  were  detained  for  two 
days  longer,  and  were  only  permitted  to  continue 
their  journey  on  March  3,  after  eleven  days'  impris- 
onment. When  they  had  crossed  the  bridge  of  Beau- 
voisin,  they  were  hooted  from  the  French  shore, 
while  salvos  of  artillery  welcomed  them  to  foreign 
soil.  They  could  not  believe  they  were  in  safety 
until  tliey  reached  Chamb^ry,  where  one  of  the  chief 
palace  officials  of  the  King  of  Sardinia  saluted  them 
in  his  master's  name,  and  installed  them  in  the 
palace. 

At  Paris  the  excitement  had  been  very  great.  On 
the  very  evening  when  the  Assembly  decided  in  favor 
of  the  Ladies,  a  crowd  of  rioters,  public  women,  and 
Jacobin  emissaries,  invaded  the  courts  and  the  garden 
of  the  Tuileries,  demanding,  with  furious  cries,  that 
the  King  should  order  the  Ladies  to  return  to  him  at 
once.  The  National  Guard  came  up.  The  gates  of 
the  chateau  were  closed.  The  populace  commanded 
the  soldiers  to  lay  down  their  bayonets,  but  they  re- 
fused.    Six  cannons  w^ere  levelled  at  the  crowd.     "  I 


86  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

have  always  wished  to  display  gentleness,"  said  Louis 
XVI.,  "  but  one  must  know  how  to  combine  it  with 
firmness,  and  teach  the  people  that  they  were  not 
made  to  dictate  the  law,  but  to  obey  it."  Lafayette 
was  ordered  to  disperse  the  crowd,  and  he  succeeded 
in  doing  so. 


XI. 

THE  KNIGHTS   OF   THE  PONIARD. 

THERE  is  no  longer  any  dike  in  the  way  of  the 
torrent.  Anarchy  is  everywhere.  The  govern- 
mental machine  is  broken.  Louis  XVI.  is  no  longer 
more  than  the  shadow  of  a  king.  There  is  no 
calumny,  however  absurd,  which  is  not  universally 
believed;  no  appeal  to  the  passions  which  does  not 
receive  immediate  hearing.  Words  lose  their  mean- 
ing. Rebellion  is  called  patriotism.  The  faithful 
servants  who  come  to  protect  the  person  of  their  king 
with  a  rampart  of  their  own  bodies,  are  treated  as 
seditious,  as  assassins,  and  are  pointed  out  to  popular 
vengeance  under  the  melodramatic  title  of  "  Knights 
of  the  Poniard." 

The  multitude  is  restless,  agitated,  on  the  morning 
of  February  28,  1T91.  One  might  say  that  the  ex- 
plosive materials  with  which  the  ground  is  strewn 
are  about  to  be  set  on  fire.  Certain  repairs  are  being 
made  in  the  dungeon  of  Vincennes,  so  that  it  may 
serve  as  an  auxiliary  to  the  prisons  of  Paris.  A 
rumor  spreads  among  the  populace  to  the  effect  that 
a  new  Bastille   is  preparing,  to  succeed  the  former 

87 


88  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

one.  The  lioters,  recruited  from  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Antoine  by  Santerre,  go  to  the  castle  of  Vincennes, 
and  begin  demolishing  a  parapet,  and  afterwards  sev- 
eral other  parts  of  the  dungeon. 

Apprised  of  this  popular  movement,  Lafayette 
goes  at  once  to  Vincennes,  with  a  detachment  of  the 
National  Guard.  In  the  Faubourg  Saint  Antoine 
the  people  show  hostile  dispositions,  and  three  battal- 
ions of  this  faubourg  refuse  to  march.  But  the  com- 
mander of  the  battalion  of  the  Capuchins  of  the 
Marais,  followed  by  a  large  number  of  volunteers, 
penetrates  to  the  dungeon,  and  puts  a  stop  to  the 
demolition.  Sixty-four  rioters,  who  resist,  are  ar- 
rested. 

On  returning  from  the  expedition,  which  has 
lasted  until  night,  some  men,  lurking  in  the  Vin- 
cennes -forest,  fire  several  shots  at  Lafayette's  aide- 
de-camp,  mistaking  him  for  the  general.  Arrived 
at  the  Barriere  du  Tr6ne,  the  National  Guards  find 
the  gate  closed,  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  faubourg 
refuse  to  open  it.  The  cavalry,  supported  by  infantry 
and  twelve  pieces  of  artillery,  are  obliged  to  intervene 
in  order  to  vindicate  the  law  and  conduct  the  prison- 
ers to  the  H6tel  de  Ville. 

The  session  of  the  National  Assembly  has  been 
more  stormy  than  usual  on  this  day,  and  Mirabeau 
has  resisted  the  tempest  with  supreme  energy.  In 
spite  of  all  clamor,  he  has  opposed  a  law  they  are 
seeking  to  enact  against  emigration.  "  This  popu- 
,   larity  of  mine,"  he  had  cried  in  his  voice  of  thunder, 


THE  KNIGHTS   OF  THE  PONIARD.  89 

"  this  popularity  which  I  have  aspired  to  and  enjoyed 
like  any  other  man,  is  not  a  feeble  reed.  I  will  bed  it 
deep  in  the  ground,  and  I  will  make  it  germinate  on 
the  soil  of  justice  and  reason.  ...  I  swear  —  if  an 
emigration  kiw  is  passed  —  I  swear  to  disobey  it.  .  .  . 
I  beg  those  who  interrupt  me  to  remember  that  I 
have  resisted  tyranny  all  my  life,  and  that  I  will 
resist  it  wherever  it  may  be  established." 

The  day  is  full  of  agitation.  While  the  rioters  are 
seeking  to  demolish  the  dungeon  of  Vincennes,  and 
Mirabeau  is  in  the  tribune,  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries 
becomes  a  prey  to  the  keenest  anguish.  It  is  rumored 
that  an  insurrection  is  organizing  and  that  it  will  vio- 
late the  sanctuary  of  the  monarchy.  Several  noble- 
men, carrying  arms  under  their  coats,  come  spon- 
taneously to  the  palace  in  order  to  defend  the  royal 
family.  They  penetrate  even  to  the  King's  apart- 
ments, and  Louis  XVI.  comes  out  to  see  them. 
"  Sire,"  say  they,  "  your  nobles  hasten  to  surround 
your  sacred  person."  The  sovereign  moderates  their 
zeal  and  replies  that  he  is  in  safety. 

At  the  same  time  the  heads  of  the  revolutionists 
are  getting  overheated.  The  nobles  who  had  come 
to  the  palace  through  a  chivalrous  impulse  are  stig- 
matized as  conspirators  whose  intention  is  to  assas- 
sinate the  National  Guards.  Lafaj^ette,  coming  back 
from  Vincennes,  goes  to  the  palace,  where  he  finds 
great  excitement.  There  has  just  been  a  brawl. 
The  National  Guards  on  duty  have  insulted  the 
nobles,  some  of   whom  have  been  struck,  and  even 


90  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

wounded.  Some  have  been  sent  flying  at  the  butt 
end  of  a  musket,  some  trodden  under  foot,  others 
rolled  in  the  mud.  The  Duke  of  Pienne  and  Count 
Alexandre  de  Tilly  are  among  the  most  badly  treated. 
Some  have  opposed  an  energetic  resistance,  notably 
the  Marquis  of  Chabert,  chief  of  squadron,  and  the 
Marquis  of  Beauharnais,  a  member  of  the  National 
Assembly.  Louis  XVI.  has  requested  his  adherents 
to  lay  down  their  arms.  Lafayette  orders  them  to 
do  so.  The  nobles  tremblingly  deposit  their  weap- 
ons on  two  large  tables  in  the  King's  ante-chamber. 
They  are  afterwards  taken  to  the  quarters  of  M.  de 
Gouvion,  who  lodges  in  one  of  the  courts  of  the 
palace. 

The  next  day,  Lafayette  has  an  account  of  the 
affair  posted  up.  MM.  de  Duras  and  de  Villequier, 
first  gentlemen  of  the  chamber,  who  had  authorized 
the  introduction  of  these  so-called  conspirators  into 
the  palace,  are  described  in  this  account  as  head- 
servants.  They  hand  in  their  resignations  and  leave 
France.  Among  the  people,  the  evening  of  February 
28  becomes  the  subject  of  numberless  comments.  By 
all  accounts,  the  Knights  of  the  Poniard,  which  is 
the  new  name  given  to  the  King's  adherents,  intended 
nothing  less  than  a  Saint  Bartholomew's  day  against 
the  patriots. 

The  Moniteur  had  at  first  published  a  succinct 
account  of  the  incident.  March  5,  it  published  the 
following  declaration  of  dissent  addressed  it  by  a 
National   Guard:  "You  are  making  game   of  your 


THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  PONIARD,  91 

subscribers  in  giving  them  your  flat  and  unfaithful 
account  of  Avhat  happened  at  the  Tuileries  on  the 
evening  of  February  28.  What !  when  seven  or  eight 
hundred  assassins,  ex-chevaliers,  viscounts,  barons, 
dukes,  and  marquises  surround  the  throne,  armed 
with  pistols,  dirks,  and  poniards,  in  order  to  take  by 
surprise  the  National  Guards,  whom  they  have  caused 
to  be  assailed  from  another  quarter  by  a  troop  of 
maddened  people ;  when  tliis  horde  of  brigands  is 
joined  by  a  crowd  of  hired  assassins,  Avho  do  not  own 
to  being  hired,  you  say  coldly,  '  Several  private  per- 
sons armed  with  pistols.'  Several?  They  came  in 
hundreds.  I  saw  them !  Private  persons  ?  What 
private  persons  except  all  the  ci-devant?  Armed 
with  pistols?  And  with  poniards,  and  dirks,  and 
with  all  those  infernal  machines  which  we  tore  away 
from  them,  and  to  which  not  even  a  name  can  be 
given,  so  much  have  those  who  invented  them  refined 
upon  the  villainy  of  their  predecessors  in  this  infa- 
mous career!" 

It  was  by  such  fables  that  popular  imagination 
was  disquieted,  and  the  greatest  catastrophes  pre- 
pared. The  nobles  had  no  longer  a  right  to  defend 
their  sovereign,  and  Louis  XVI.,  mortified  by  the 
affront  inflicted  on  his  adherents  in  his  presence,  fell 
ill  with  chagrin.  In  the  tribune,  Mirabeau  uttered 
reactionist  speeches.  But  the  monarchy  was  almost 
dead,  and  Mirabeau  was  about  to  die. 


XII. 

THE  DEATH   OF  MIRABEAU. 

"  TN  these  stormy  times  when  we,  so  prodigal  of  life, 
_J-  see  our  days  glide  by  so  fast  and  end  so  quickly, 
exhausted  by  labor  and  the  passions  still  more  than 
threatened  by  ill-will,  it  would  seem  that  the  conso- 
lations of  philosophy  can  no  longer  satisfy  us.  .  .  . 
If  death  comes  too  soon,  it  is  so  especially  for  those 
who  have  posterity  in  view,  who  eternalize  the  mem- 
ory of  their  names  by  their  actions  or  their  works, 
and  whom  death  always  interrupts  in  the  midst  of 
some  enterprise,  to  the  great  loss  of  the  public  who 
reckon  it  to  their  memor}^  which  they  honor  still 
more  by  reverence  and  regret." 

These  plaintive  lines,  written  by  Mirabeau  on  the 
occasion  of  the  premature  death  of  one  of  his  friends, 
apply  still  more  exactly  to  his  own.  He,  above  all 
men,  was  "  prodigal  of  life."  One  might  say  that, 
foreboding  the  brevity  of  his  career,  he  desired  to 
multiply  and  concentrate  within  a  few  years,  a  few 
weeks,  the  greatest  possible  sum  of  emotions,  fatigues, 
joys,  struggles,  and  triumphs.  Devoured  by  an  activ- 
ity which  was  like  a  fever,  avid  of  gold,  of  pleasure, 
92 


THE  DEATH  OF  MIR  ABE  AU.  93 

and  of  glory,  intoxicated  with  popularity  parched 
by  the  myriad  fires  which  consumed  his  mind  and 
heart,  he  descended  the  fatal  slope  with  the  rapidity 
of  madness.  His  fate  was  that  of  most  men  who 
desire  at  the  same  time  both  work  and  pleasure.  For 
them  pleasure  soon  turns  into  fatigue  and  suffering ; 
but  when  their  vices  desert  them,  they  will  not  desert 
their  vices.  Enemies  of  their  own  repose,  they  per- 
secute and  lay  snares  to  entrap  themselves.  They 
kill  the  body;  if  they  could,  they  would  kill  the 
soul.  A  violent  excitement,  comparable  to  the  last 
impulsion  of  a  broken  engine,  gives  them  for  a  little 
while  a  factitious  energy.  A  lingering  habit  inter- 
ests them  in  worldly  affairs,  of  which,  nevertheless, 
they  already  understand  the  emptiness,  the  inanity. 

Such  was  the  great  Mirabeau.  It  was  not  without 
bitterness  that  he  saw  rising  before  him  a  power 
stronger  than  his  genius,  than  his  eloquence  —  Death ! 
He  suffered  because  of  his  interrupted  task,  because 
of  the  evil  he  had  done,  and  the  good  which  he  could 
no  longer  do.  In  spite  of  all  the  echoes  which  re- 
peated the  accents  of  his  incomparable  voice,  in  spite 
of  his  numberless  flatterers,  in  spite  of  his  prodigious 
renown,  he  felt  that  he  needed  rehabilitation,  if  not 
in  the  eyes  of  the  crowd,  at  least  in  his  own.  He  said 
to  himself,  as  Andr^  Chenier  was  to  say  one  day,  — 

"  To  die  without  emptying  my  quiver, 
Without  piercing,  without  crushing,  without  kneading  in  their 
filth, 
These  brutal  bungling  laws !  " 


94  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

This  giant  suffered  because  he  must  disappear  and 
leave  none  but  pygmies  behind  him.  The  great 
wrestler,  torn  from  the  arena,  regretted  the  emotions 
of  the  amphitheatre.  As  citizen,  as  artist,  and  as 
patriot,  he  had  whereof  to  complain.  So  much  force, 
so  much  eloquence,  so  much  hope,  so  many  schemes, 
all  to  be  extinguished  with  a  breath !  The  great 
man  beheld  himself  dying  with  I  know  not  what 
melancholy  curiosity,  and  he  mourned  for  his  coun- 
try more  than  for  himself.  His  death  struggle,  like 
his  talent,  was  to  be  grandiose,  pathetic,  theatrical. 
His  life,  his  death,  his  obsequies,  were  alike  extraor- 
dinary. In  reality,  he  had  shone  for  twenty-two 
months  only.  He  was  forty  when  he  achieved  popu- 
larity, and  twenty-two  months  had  sufficed  him  to 
make  a  name  which  places  him  in  history  at  the  side 
of  Cicero  and  Demosthenes. 

It  was  at  the  moment  when  he  was  about  to  go 
down  into  the  tomb  that  he  exerted  the  most  irre- 
sistible influence  over  the  Assembly.  His  voice, 
even  when  he  uttered  but  a  single  word  from  his 
bench,  had  a  formidable  accent.  A  nod  was  suffi- 
cient to  rule  his  friends  and  intimidate  his  foes. 
When,  turning  toward  the  Barnaves  and  the  Lameths, 
he  shouted,  "  Silence,  those  votes !  "  the  vanquished 
and  trembling  opposition  held  their  peace  ;  but  Death, 
which  makes  game  of  all  projects  and  all  glories, 
was  about  to  say  to  the  conqueror,  "  Thou  shalt 
go  no  further ! "  It  was  when  he  was  most  laden 
with   crowns   that   the   victor    felt   himself    stagger 


THE  DEATH  OF  MIBABEAU.  95 

and  fall.  The  excess  of  his  emotions  had  slain  him. 
His  head  grew  heavy,  and  his  gait  sluggish.  A  mel- 
ancholy, not  habitual  with  him,  oppressed  all  his 
being.  He  had  sudden  fainting  fits.  He  tried  in 
vain  to  arrest  the  malady  by  baths  containing  corro- 
sive sublimate  in  solution.  They  had  no  effect  other 
than  to  give  him  a  greenish  tint  which  was  attri- 
buted to  poison.  Instead  of  taking  precautions,  he 
abused  his  strength  to  the  very  end.  An  orgy  at  the 
house  of  an  opera  dancer  gave  the  final  blow,  and  on 
March  28,  1791,  he  took  to  his  bed,  never  to  rise 
again. 

The  excitement  in  Paris  was  immense.  A  vast 
multitude  surrounded  the  house  of  the  sick  man  in 
the  rue  Chaussee  d'Antin.  Bulletins  of  his  condition 
were  transmitted  from  mouth  to  mouth  to  the  very 
extremities  of  Paris.  His  principal  adversary.  Bar- 
nave,  came  at  the  head  of  a  deputation  of  Jacobins 
to  get  tidings  of  him.  Mirabeau  loved  life,  and 
struggled  against  death  with  all  the  energy  of  his 
powerful  nature.  "  You  are  a  great  doctor,"  he  said 
to  Cabanis,  "but  there  is  a  greater  one  than  you: 
He  who  made  the  Avind  which  overthrows  all  things, 
the  water  which  penetrates  and  fecundates  all,  the 
fire  which  quickens  all " ;  and  he  still  lioped  that  this 
Great  Physician  would  work  a  miracle  and  save  him. 
In  spite  of  intolerable  pains,  he  continued  to  be  inter- 
ested in  what  went  on  in  the  Assembly.  Knowing 
that  a  law  concerning  the  right  to  devise  property 
had  been  put  on  the  order  of  the  day,  he  told  Talley- 


96  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

rand  that  he  had  a  speech  on  the  subject  already 
prepared,  and  asked  him  to  read  it  from  the  tribune. 
"  It  will  be  amusing,"  he  added,  "  to  listen  to  what  a 
man  who  made  his  will  tlie  day  before,  has  to  say 
against  the  capacity  to  make  one." 

He  occupied  himself  with  foreign  affairs  also. 
"  Pitt,"  said  he,  "  is  the  minister  of  preparatives  ; 
he  governs  by  his  threats  more  than  by  his  deeds. 
If  I  were  to  live,  I  think  I  should  give  him  some 
annoyance."  Even  in  his  death-agony  he  had  mo- 
ments of  jOTde.  He  said  to  his  servant,  "Support 
this  head,  the  most  powerful  one  in  France."  Flat- 
tered by  the  multitude  of  persons  who  thronged 
about  him,  he  exclaimed :  "  See  all  these  people  who 
surround  me ;  they  wait  on  me  like  servants,  and 
they  are  my  friends ;  it  is  permissible  to  love  life 
and  to  regret  it,  when  one  leaves  such  wealth  behind 
him."  On  the  day  of  his  death,  April  2,  he  had  the 
windows  thrown  open,  and  addressing  Cabanis,  he 
said:  "My  friend,  I  shall  die  to-day.  When  one 
comes  to  that,  there  is  but  one  thing  remaining,  and 
that  is  to  perfume  one's  self,  to  be  crowned  with 
flowers  and  environed  with  music,  so  as  to  enter  as 
agreeably  as  possible  into  the  slumber  from  which 
one  wakes  no  more.  Give  me  your  word  that  you 
will  not  let  me  suffer  useless  pains.  ...  I  want  to 
enjoy  without  admixture  the  presence  of  all  that  is 
dear  to  me." 

Some  minutes  later,  he  said  bitterly,  "My  heart 
is  full  of  grief   for  the  monarchy  whose  ruins  will 


THE  BEATU  OF  MIBABEAU.  97 

become  the  prey  of  the  seditious."  Then  speech 
failed  him.  He  made  signs  for  a  pen  which  was 
near  his  bed,  and  with  his  failing  hand  wrote  the 
word :  "  Sleep."  Cabanis  pretended  not  to  under- 
stand him.  Mirabeau  resumed  the  pen,  and  added 
this  line  :  "  Can  a  man  leave  his  friend  dying  on  the 
rack  for,  it  may  be,  several  days?  "  Cabanis  assured 
the  sick  man  that  his  desire  should  be  complied  with, 
and  began  writing  the  prescription  for  an  anodyne. 
Impatient,  Mirabeau  cried  with  a  last  effort,  "Are 
you  going  to  deceive  me?"  —  "No,  friend,  no," 
answered  M.  de  la  March;  "the  remedy  is  coming; 
we  all  saw  it  ordered."  "  Ah  !  the  doctors  !  "  con- 
tinued the  dying  man.  "  Did  you  not  promise  to 
spare  me  the  agonies  of  such  a  death  ?  Do  you  want 
me  to  regret  having  confided  in  you?"  And  he 
expired. 

The  Assembly  adjourned  on  receiving  the  news. 
General  mourning  was  prescribed,  and  preparations 
made  for  a  magnificent  funeral.  The  Assembly 
decreed  that  the  Church  of  Saint  Genevieve,  trans- 
formed into  the  French  Pantheon,  should  in  future 
receive  the  remains  of  great  men,  and  have  these 
words  graven  on  its  pediment :  "  To  its  great  men, 
the  grateful  country."  It  was  decided  at  the  same 
time  that  Mirabeau's  body  should  lie  beside  that  of 
Descartes  in  this  new  Pantheon.  It  was  an  apotheo- 
sis. For  three  days  nothing  was  talked  of  but  the 
celebrated  defunct.  The  people  tore  down  the  name 
of  the  rue  Chaussee  d'Antin,  where  he  had  lived,  and 


98  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

in  its  place  wrote  rue  Mirabeau.  M.  de  la  Place,  the 
dean  of  the  men  of  letters,  entering  a  restaurant  in 
the  Palais  Royal,  a  waiter  said  to  him,  "  Monsieur  de 
la  Place,  the  weather  is  very  fine  to-day."  —  "  Yes,  my 
friend,  the  weather  is  very  fine ;  but  Mirabeau  is 
dead."  Revolutionists  and  aristocrats  joined  in  ex- 
tolling his  glory.  Like  Homer,  over  whom  seven 
cities  disputed  the  honor  of  having  been  his  birth- 
place, both  parj:ies  claimed  the  great  orator  for  their 
own.  "  The  day  after  he  died,"  says  Camille  Desmou- 
lins,  "I  thought  they  were  going  to  make  a  saint  of 
him  in  good  earnest."  The  Crazette  Universelle  re- 
lated that  he  had  not  seen  his  parish  priest ;  but  that 
at  two  different  times  he  had  spent  more  than  half 
an  hour  with  the  Bishop  of  Lyons,  Mgr.  Lamourette. 
He  was  regretted  by  the  Jacobins,  and  also  at  the 
Tuileries.  The  Revolution  had  lost  its  favorite,  and 
the  court  believed  it  had  lost  its  saviour. 

Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette  were  in  deep 
affliction.  Madame  Elisabeth  alone  judged  the  dead 
man  with  severity.  April  3,  1791,  she  wrote  to  the 
Marquise  de  Bombelles :  "  Mirabeau  died  yesterday 
morning.  His  arrival  in  the  other  world  must  have 
been  extremely  painful.  They  say  he  saw  his  parish 
priest  for  an  hour.  I  am  very  sorry  for  his  unhappy 
sister,  who  is  very  pious  and  who  loved  him  madly. 
The  politicians  say  this  death  is  to  be  regretted ;  for 
my  part,  I  wait  before  deciding."  Absorbed  by  the 
thought  of  this  death  as  by  a  fixed  idea,  she  wrote 
the  same  day  to  another  of  her  friends,  Madame  de 


THE  DEATH  OF  MIR  ABE AU,  99 

Raigecourt :  "  Mirabeau  concluded  to  go  into  the 
other  world,  to  see  whether  the  Revolution  is  ap- 
proved there.  Good  God !  what  an  awakening  he 
must  have  had !  Many  persons  are  disturbed  about 
it.  The  aristocrats  regret  him  deeply.  For  the  last 
three  months  he  has  taken  the  right  side,  and  they 
hoped  much  from  his  talents.  For  my  part,  although 
very  aristocratic,  I  cannot  but  regard  his  death  as 
providential  for  the  kingdom.  I  do  not  believe  that 
it  is  by  men  without  principles  or  morals  that  God 
wills  to  save  us.  I  keep  this  opinion  to  myself, 
because  it  is  not  politic ;  but  I  like  those  who  are 
religious  better." 

The  multitude,  however,  continued  to  extol  the 
dead  man  as  if  he  were  a  demigod.  His  coffin  was 
completely  hidden  under  a  shower  of  garlands.  The 
Society  of  the  Friends  of  the  Constitution  resolved 
to  wear  mourning  for  eight  days,  and  to  resume  it 
annually  on  April  2,  and  to  have  a  marble  bust  of 
him  executed,  on  the  pedestal  of  which  should  be 
inscribed  the  celebrated  saying :  "  Go  and  tell  those 
who  sent  you  that  we  are  here  by  the  will  of  the 
people,  and  that  we  will  not  depart  save  by  force  of 
bayonets." 

It  was  related  that,  during  the  illness  of  the 
deceased,  a  youth  came  to  offer  the  transfusion  of 
his  blood  to  rejuvenate  and  freshen  that  of  the  sick 
man.  People  said  also  that  his  secretary,  who  had 
several  times  drawn  the  sword  in  his  defence,  was 
unwilling  to  survive  him,  and  was  going  to  cut  his 


100  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

throat.  On  the  day  of  the  funeral,  Monday,  April  4, 
some  fashionable  society  women  were  complaining  of 
the  dust,  and  saying  that  the  municij)ality  would 
have  done  well  to  have  the  boulevard  sprinkled. 
"•  They  counted  on  our  tears  "  responded  a  fishwoman. 

Never  was  there  a  ceremony  more  grandiose  or 
lugubrious.  The  procession  began  to  form  at  five  in 
the  evening.  A  detachment  of  the  National  Guard 
cavalry  opened  the  march.  Then  came  a  deputation 
from  the  Invalides  chosen  from  among  the  veterans 
most  severely  mutilated;  Lafayette  and  his  staff;  a 
deputation  from  the  sixty  battalions;  the  Hundred- 
Swiss  ;  the  provost  guards ;  the  military  band  playing 
funereal  music,  and  with  its  drums  muffled  in  black 
crape.  The  clergy  preceded  the  corpse.  It  was  at 
first  intended  to  put  the  coffin  in  a  hearse,  but  the 
battalion  of  La  Grange  Bateliere,  which  Mirabeau 
had  commanded,  asked  and  obtained  the  honor  of 
carrying  it  with  their  own  arms.  A  civic  crown 
was  substituted  for  the  feudal  insignia,  the  count's 
coronet,  and  the  coat-of-arms.  Behind  the  body 
walked  the  whole  National  Assembly,  escorted  by 
the  battalion  of  veterans  and  that  of  the  children. 
Then  came  the  magistrates  and  all  the  clubs. 

The  procession,  which  was  three  miles  long, 
marched  slowly  between  two  ranks  of  National 
Guards.  It  took  three  hours  to  reach  Saint  Eustache. 
At  the  moment  of  removing  the  corpse,  twenty  thou- 
sand men  fired  a  simultaneous  discharge.  The  win- 
dows were  broken.     It  seemed  as  though  the  church 


■y    ■)■>    y    t    ■> 

1       Til        ■>         1 


TH^  DEATH  OF  MIRABEAU,  iOi 

>  1  -I    ) 

^ . : , .,___ __^       , 

,'      '     '         1     ■)   1        f 

was  going  to  fall  in  upon  the  coffin.  After  the  office' 
for  the  dead,  the  line  of  march  was  resumed  again 
in  the  direction  of  the  Pantheon.  It  was  midnight 
when  they  reached  it.  The  torches  shone  amid  the 
gloom  like  so  many  unreal,  fantastic  lights.  Mira- 
beau's  body  was  placed  in  the  same  vault  as  that  of 
Descartes.  Then  the  crowds  dispersed,  and  nothing 
troubled  any  longer  the  calmness  of  the  night. 

And  now  let  us  leave  the  word  to  Camille  Des- 
moulins,  who  has  described  this  great  funereal  pomp. 
In  number  72  of  his  RSvolutions  de  France  et  de 
Brabant,  he  writes :  ''  Admiration  was  felt  on  all 
sides,  and  sorrow  nowhere.  The  honors  due  to  Mira- 
beau's  genius  were  paid  him ;  but  those  which  belong 
only  to  virtue  cannot  be  usurped.  There  was  a  hun- 
dred times  more  grief  at  Loustalot's  lonely  funeral 
than  in  this  league-long  procession.  One  must  tell 
the  truth.  This  ceremony  was  more  like  the  trans- 
lation of  Voltaire,  of  a  great  man  who  had  been  dead 
ten  years,  than  that  of  one  recently  deceased.  The 
refusal  of  a  single  man,  a  Cato  or  a  Petion,  to  be 
present  at  his  funeral  or  wear  mourning  for  him, 
does  more  injury  to  his  memory  than  four  hundred 
thousand  spectators  can  do  it  honor.  How  many 
say  to  themselves  at  the  sight  of  so  much  homage  : 
Mind  and  talent,  then,  are  all.  And  thou,  Virtue, 
since  thou  art  but  a  phantom,  Brutus  may  thrust 
himself  through  with  his  own  sword,  and  the  victory 
of  the  Caesar  is  assured !  " 

Yes,  it  is  Csesar  who  will  triumph,  the  unknown 


IX)^  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Caesar,  Csesaf  the '  Corsican.  O  foresight  of  this 
world,  of  how  little  account  are  you  I  O  vaunted 
geniuses,  great  politicians,  great  orators,  great  states- 
men, what  can  you  do  against  the  mysterious  future  ? 
How  brief  you  are,  O  human  wisdom,  and  how  blind, 
and  how  little  even  the  eloquence  of  a  Mirabeau 
weighs  in  the  balances  of  Fate! 


XIII. 

THE  RELIGIOUS   QUESTION. 

SOCIETIES  which  appear  the  most  incredulous 
are  often  those  where  religious  questions  most 
divide  and  inflame  men's  minds.  The  revolutionary 
and  Voltairian  Paris  of  1791  occupied  itself  with 
theology  in  a  sort  of  fury.  Both  in  the  salons  and 
the  faubourgs,  the  chief  preoccupation  was  to  know 
what  would  be  the  result  of  the  civil  constitution  of 
the  clergy.  One  might  have  supposed  that  the  des- 
tiny of  France  and  the  fate  of  all  Frenchmen  de- 
pended on  whether  the  clergy  would  or  would  not 
take  the  oath.  Never  had  any  subject  of  controversy 
excited  on  either  side  more  bitterness  and  anger. 

At  the  time  when  Mirabeau  died,  the  struggle  had 
entered  upon  its  most  violent  period.  Anti-religious 
leaflets  were  distributed  to  men  gifted  with  sonorous 
voices  and  a  certain  talent  for  declamation,  who 
harangued  the  people  with  them  in  every  public 
place.  Some  of  them  were  dialogues  in  which  odious 
and  ridiculous  remarks  were  made  by  the  pretended 
friends  of  the  clergy.  There  were  also  obscene  stories 
and  filthy  tales  about  monks  and  nuns.    On  the  quays 

103 


104  3IABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

and  boulevards,  and  in  all  the  public  places,  cari- 
catures were  strewn  in  profusion,  either  represent- 
ing priests  and  nuns  in  indecent  postures,  or  prel- 
ates from  whose  monstrous  stomachs  peasants  were 
squeezing  out  stacks  of  golden  coins. 

In  the  other  camp,  by  the  side  of  sincerely  religious 
persons,  might  be  seen  women  who  had  lost  their 
reputation,  philosophers,  encyclopsedists,  sometimes 
even  atheists,  who  had  suddenly  become  missionaries, 
theologians,  and  ardent  defenders  of  the  purity  and 
integrity  of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith. 

Ever  since  August  24, 1790,  the  heart  of  Louis  XVI. 
had  been  torn  by  remorse,  a  torture  he  had  never 
known  before.  On  that  day,  against  the  protest  of 
his  conscience,  he  had  granted  his  royal  sanction  to 
the  civil  constitution  of  the  clergy.  The  eldest  son 
of  the  Church,  the  most  Christian  King,  the  sovereign 
consecrated  at  Rheims,  the  successor  of  Charlemagne 
and  Saint  Louis,  shuddered  with  anguish  when  he 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  sacred  ark.  By  force  of  votes, 
the  national  had  beaten  down  the  religious  edifice. 
The  clergy  no  longer  had  an  existence  as  a  political 
body. 

The  sale  of  ecclesiastical  property  was  decreed, 
and  the  perpetuity  of  religious  vows  annulled.  The 
priests,  transformed  into  mere  functionaries,  received 
their  salaries  from  the  State.  The  covenant  which 
had  for  centuries  united  France  to  the  Hol}^  See  was 
broken.  The  Pope's  authority  had  no  longer  any 
weight  in  the  balance.     Each  territorial  department 


THE  RELIGIOUS  QUESTION.  105 

formed  a  diocese,  and  every  ecclesiastical  boundary 
not  corresponding  with  a  civil  one  was  abolished. 
Appointments  to  livings  and  to  episcopal  sees  were 
to  be  made  by  lay  voters,  without  any  thought  of 
applying  to  Rome  to  sanction  their  proceedings.  All 
acts  of  a  civil  nature  passed  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
clergy  into  those  of  the  municipalities. 

The  priests  were  obliged  to  swear  fidelity  to  the 
new  Constitution,  which  was  condemned  by  the  Pope ; 
those  among  them  who  possessed  no  private  means 
had  only  the  alternative  of  ruin  or  apostasy.  About 
a  hundred  ecclesiastical  members  of  the  National  As- 
sembly, among  them  two  prelates,  Talleyrand,  Bishop 
of  Autun,  and  Gobel,  Bishop  of  Lydda,  took  the  oath. 
All  the  rest  refused  it.  The  entire  episcopate,  with 
the  exception  of  these  two  sworn  bishops,  protested 
in  the  most  energetic  terms.  Religious  anarchy  soon 
reached  its  height.  There  was  civil  war  in  every 
parish.  The  partisans  of  the  Revolution  threatened 
with  the  direst  punishments  those  priests  who  obeyed 
the  Vatican  instead  of  the  Constituent  Assembly. 

The  partisans  of  reaction  said  that  the  Pope  was 
about  to  launch  his  thunders  ao-ainst  a  sacrileofious 
Assembly  and  the  apostate  priests  ;  that  the  people  in 
country  places,  deprived  of  the  sacraments,  would  rise 
en  masse ;  that  foreign  armies  would  enter  France ; 
and  that  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  edifice  of 
iniquity  w^ould  crumble.  The  unsworn  bishops  issued 
charges  in  wdiich  they  affirmed  that  they  would  not 
retire  from  their  sees  unless  constrained  by  force. 


106  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

They  added  that  they  would  hire  houses  in  which  to 
continue  their  episcopal  functions,  and  bade  the  faith- 
ful to  have  recourse  only  to  them.  The  only  subject 
of  conversation  was  religion.  The  clubs  were  occupied 
with  nothing  but  the  Church.  The  same  individuals 
who,  two  years  later,  were  to  dance  in  rings  around  the 
scaffolds  of  the  priests,  now  had  no  other  idea  than 
to  find  out  what  the  priest  would  be  who  should  say 
Mass  in  such  or  such  parish.  From  the  King  to  the 
Jacobins,  from  the  Queen  and  Madame  Elisabeth  to 
the  future  furies  of  the  guillotine,  there  was  not  a 
soul  who  was  not  passionately  interested  in  this  burn- 
ing question.  It  was  the  cause  of  all  quarrels,  the 
great  aliment  of  discord.  In  the  same  family  were 
to  be  encountered  the  two  camps  waging  war  to  the 
knife. 

General  Lafayette  was  on  the  side  of  the  priests 
who  had  taken  the  oath.  His  wife  remained  faithful 
to  the  others.  Madame  de  Lasteyrie,  in  her  Vie  de 
Madame  de  Lafayette^  whose  daughter  she  was,  says : 
"  The  civil  constitution  of  the  clergy  was  a  subject 
of  great  tribulation  to  my  mother.  She  thought  it 
her  duty,  precisely  on  account  of  her  personal  situa- 
tion, to  show  her  attachment  to  the  Catholic  cause. 
She  was  present,  consequently,  at  the  refusal  to  take 
the  oath  which  her  parish  priest,  the  Cur^  of  Saint 
Sulpice,  made  from  the  pulpit.  She  found  herself 
there  in  company  with  those  best  known  by  their 
aristocracy.  She  repaired  assiduously  to  the  churches, 
and  afterwards  to  the  oratories  where  the  persecuted 


THE  BELJGIOUS  QUESTION.  107 

clergy  took  shelter.  She  continually  received  the 
nuns  who  complained  and  sought  protection,  as  well 
as  the  priests  who  refused  the  oath,  whom  she  encour- 
aged to  exercise  their  functions,  and  to  assert  the 
freedom  of  worship.  My  father  often  entertained  at 
dinner  the  ecclesiastics  of  the  constitutional  clergy. 
My  mother  professed  in  their  presence  her  attach- 
ment to  the  cause  of  the  former  bishops." 

Even  in  the  house  of  the  commander  of  the  Na- 
tional Guard  —  of  Lafayette,  the  liberal  man  ^:>«r 
excellence  —  the  cause  of  the  Roman  Church  had 
ardent  su^Dporters.  Mirabeau,  —  Mirabeau  himself, 
—  who  pretended  to  support  the  civil  constitution 
of  the  clergy,  was,  in  the  forum  of  conscience,  its 
adversary.  He  beheld  in  it,  and  not  without  a 
secret  pleasure,  a  sort  of  trap  which  the  enemies 
of  the  throne  and  the  altar  were  laying  for  them- 
selves. In  the  tribune  he  hurled  invectives  at  the 
priests  who  remained  faithful  to  the  doctrines  of 
Rome,  and  said  to  them  that  "  if  the  Church  fell  into 
ruins,  it  was  to  them  should  be  attributed  the  cause." 
And  the  same  man  who  used  this  language  wrote  to 
Count  de  la  Marck,  January  5,  1791 :  "  The  Assembly 
is  done  for.  Not  a  single  oath  was  taken  yesterday, 
and  if  the  Assembly  thinks  that  the  resignation  of 
twenty  thousand  parish  priests  will  produce  no  effect 
in  the  kingdom,  it  looks  through  strange  spectacles." 
In  his  43d  note  for  the  court  he  thus  insists  on  the 
advantage  which  should  accrue  to  the  royal  cause 
from  the  decree  against  the  clergy :  "  A  more  favor- 


108  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

able  opportunity  could  not  be  found  to  league  to- 
gether a  great  number  of  malcontents  of  the  most 
dangerous  sort,  and  to  augment  the  popularity  of  the 
King  at  the  expense  of  that  of  the  National  Assem- 
bly. To  do  this,  it  will  be  necessary  to  induce  the 
greatest  possible  number  of  ecclesiastics  to  refuse  the 
oath,  and  the  active  members  of  the  parishes  who  are 
attached  to  their  pastors  to  object  to  re-elections  ;  to 
provoke  the  National  Assembly  to  violent  measures 
against  these  parishes ;  to  present  at  the  same  time 
all  manner  of  decrees  relative  to  religion,  and  espe- 
cially to  discuss  the  condition  of  the  Jews  in  Alsace, 
the  marriage  of  priests,  and  divorce,  so  that  the  fire 
may  not  go  out  for  want  of  combustible  materials." 
So  Mirabeau,  the  great  tribune,  the  idol  of  the  de- 
mocracy, the  immortal  revolutionist,  was,  if  not  pub- 
licly, at  least  in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  a  clerical ! 

If  such  were  the  sentiments  of  Mirabeau,  what 
must  not  have  been  those  of  Louis  XVI.  and  his 
family?  Madame  Elisabeth,  who  set  at  defiance  so 
many  persecutions,  dreaded  the  religious  one.  Her 
correspondence  betrays,  in  almost  every  line,  her 
anguish  as  a  Christian.  Resolved,  if  need  were, 
to  brave  martyrdom,  she  was  absolutely  resolved 
to  hold  her  own  against  all  the  world,  and  even 
against  the  King  himself,  if  that  were  necessary, 
in  order  to  obey  the  voice  of  her  conscience.  She 
wrote  to  Madame  de  Bombelles,  November  28, 
1790 :  "  How  can  one  desire  that  Heaven  should 
cease  to  be  angry  with  us,  when  we  take  pleasure  in 


THE  RELIGIOUS   QUESTION.  109 

constantly  provoking  it  ?  Let  us  try,  at  least,  dear 
heart,  to  efface  some  of  the  offences  daily  committed 
by  our  fidelity  in  serving  God.  Let  us  remember 
that  He  is  far  more  grieved  than  angry.  It  depends 
on  us  to  console  Him.  Ah !  how  this  thought 
should  animate  the  fervor  of  souls  so  happy  as  to 
possess  the  faith !  Make  your  little  children  pray.  God 
has  told  us  that  their  prayers  are  pleasing  to  Him." 

January  7, 1791,  the  pious  Princess  wrote  to  Madame 
de  Raigecourt:  "I  have  no  inclination  for  martyr- 
dom ;  but  I  feel  that  I  would  be  very  glad  to  have 
the  certainty  of  suffering  it,  rather  than  abandon  the 
least  article  of  my  faith.  I  hope  that  if  I  am  destined 
for  it,  God  will  grant  me  the  needful  strength.  He 
is  so  good,  so  good  I "  And  on  February  7,  to  Madame 
de  Bombelles  :  "  Ah  !  if  we  have  sinned,  God  is  pun- 
ishing us  well !  Happy  he  who  receives  this  trial  in 
the  spirit  of  penitence  !  We  must  thank  God  for 
the  courage  He  is  giving  to  the  clergy.  Every  day 
we  hear  new  instances  of  it."  March  21,  she  wrote 
to  Madame  de  Raigecourt:  "We  are  in  terrible 
anguish.  The  Pope's  brief  will  presently  appear, 
and  the  real  persecution  will  begin  soon  afterwards. 
This  prospect  is  not  of  the  most  agreeable  descrip- 
tion. But  as  we  have  always  been  told  we  ought  to 
will  what  God  wills,  we  must  rejoice.  In  fact,  when 
we  know  just  what  we  have  to  do,  it  will  be  much 
easier,  because  then  we  shall  no  longer  be  obliged 
to  use  circumspection  with  anybody.  When  God 
speaks,  a  Catholic  hears  only  His  voice." 


110  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

At  bottom  the  sentiments  of  Louis  XVI.  were  the 
same  as  his  sister's.  The  Pope  had  written  him, 
July  10,  1790  :  "  Even  if  you  were  disposed  to  resign 
the  rights  inherent  in  the  royal  prerogatives,  you 
have  not  the  right  to  alienate  in  the  least,  nor  to 
abandon,  what  belongs  to  God  and  to  the  Church, 
of  which  you  are  the  eldest  son."  This  letter  from 
the  Holy  Father  had  profoundly  impressed  the  King. 
He  who  had  suffered  with  so  much  patience  the 
attacks  on  his  dignity  as  a  prince,  his  liberty  as  a 
man,  and  his  prerogatives  as  a  monarch,  was  unable 
to  resign  himself  to  the  pangs  he  suffered  as  a  Catho- 
lic. In  order  to  constrain  him  to  sanction  the  civil 
constitution  of  the  clergy,  it  had  been  necessary  to 
assure  him  that  public  safety  imperiously  demanded 
this  sacrifice,  without  which  both  priests  and  nobles 
would  be  massacred.  It  is  easy  to  comprehend  what 
must  have  passed  in  the  heart  of  this  pre-eminently 
devout  sovereign,  this  monarch  who  was  above  all 
things  religious,  and  who  valued  his  title  to  the 
name  of  Christian  far  more  than  to  that  of  King. 

April  3,  1791,  the  pealing  of  bells  announced  the 
installation  of  the  cures  who  had  taken  oath  to  the 
new  Constitution.  Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  :  "  The 
intended  cures  were  established  this  morning.  I 
have  heard  all  the  bells  of  Saint  Roch.  I  cannot 
conceal  from  you  that  it  has  caused  me  frightful 
grief."  Louis  XVI.  did  not  lament  it  less  than  his 
sister.  The  bells  had  a  funereal  accent  in  his  ears. 
The  thing  was  done.    The  unfortunate  monarch  never 


THE  BELIGIOUS   QUESTION.  Ill 

experienced  another  instant  of  moral  repose.  What 
anxieties  !  What  sleepless  nights  !  What  remorse  ! 
The  royal  martyr  wrote  in  his  Avill  these  sorrowful 
lines :  "  Not  being  able  to  obtain  the  services  of  a 
Catholic  priest,  I  pray  God  to  receive  the  confession 
I  have  made  to  Him,  and  above  all  my  profound 
repentance  for  having  signed  my  name  (although  it 
was  against  my  will)  to  acts  which  might  be  con- 
trary to  the  discipline  and  the  faith  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  to  which  I  have  ever  remained  sincerely 
united  at  heart." 

This  poignant  regret  was  for  Louis  XVI.  the  most 
grievous  of  his  tortures.  "  Cursed  forever,"  cries 
Joseph  de  Maistre  in  his  ultramontane  ardor,  "  be  the 
infamous  faction  which,  profiting  shamelessly  by  the 
misfortunes  of  the  monarchy,  seized  brutally  a  sacred 
hand  and  forced  it  to  sign  what  it  abhorred !  If  this 
hand,  about  to  be  hidden  in  the  tomb,  felt  it  a  duty 
to  Avrite  the  solemn  testimony  of  a  profound  repent- 
ance, may  the  sublime  confession,  consigned  to  an 
immortal  testament,  recoil  like  an  overwhelming 
load,  like  an  eternal  anathema,  upon  the  guilty  party 
which  made  it  seem  necessary  in  the  eyes  of  this 
august  innocence,  inexorable  only  towards  itself, 
amidst  the  respect  of  the  universe." 


XIV. 

THE  HOLY  WEEK  OF   1791. 

HOLY  WEEK  in  1791  was  to  redouble  the 
religious  anguish  of  Louis  XVI.  The  unfor- 
tunate monarch  felt  the  contrast  between  the  troubled 
present  and  those  happy  bygone  days  when  neither 
his  dignity  as  a  king  nor  his  conscience  as  a  Chris- 
tian had  anything  to  suffer ;  when  he  enjoyed  that 
supreme  good,  peace  of  mind,  and  when  the  cere- 
monies of  the  Church  and  the  chants  of  the  liturgy, 
instead  of  causing  him  anxiety,  and  even  remorse, 
gave  him  only  joy  and  consolation.  He  regretted 
his  beloved  chapel  at  Versailles,  and  the  harmony 
which  formerly  existed  between  throne  and  altar, 
both  equally  threatened  now.  He  sought  for  the 
priests  of  former  time,  and  lost  himself,  as  it  were, 
in  an  abyss  of  cares.  The  offices  of  the  Church 
reminded  him  of  his  dismal  situation.  The  Crown  of 
Thorns  made  him  think  of  his  own  diadem.  Might 
not  this  King,  whose  palace  had  become  a  j)i'ison, 
apply  to  himself  the  words  which  are  said  in  the 
Mass  of  Palm  Sunday,  after  the  gradual :  "  My  God  ! 
my  God !  cast  thine  eyes  upon  me  !  Wliy  hast  Thou 

112 


THE  HOLY  WEEK  OF  1791.  113 

abandoned  me?  My  God,  I  will  cry  unto  Thee  in 
the  day  time,  and  Thou  wilt  not  listen.  I  will  cry 
in  the  night  time,  and  Thou  wilt  keep  silence.  All 
those  who  behold  me  deride  me.  They  wag  their 
heads  while  they  say :  He  put  his  confidence  in  the 
Lord.     Let  the  Lord  deliver  him  and  save  him !  " 

The  week  began  badly.  Palm  Sunday  Avas  a  day 
of  anxiety  and  trouble.  Alas  !  the  truce  of  God  no 
longer  existed,  even  during  Holy  Week.  Discord 
gave  itself  not  a  moment's  rest.  The  Church  of  the 
Theatins,  which  the  Catholics  had  hired  from  the 
municipality  in  order  that  divine  service  might  be 
celebrated  there  by  priests  faithful  to  Rome,  was 
invaded  by  peo^^le  who  flogged  a  young  girl,  and 
fastened  two  brooms  crosswise  over  the  door,  with 
an  inscription  describing  the  chastisement  prepared 
for  any  priest  or  other  person  who  should  dare  to 
enter  the  church.  Bailly,  the  mayor,  had  the  brooms 
and  the  inscription  removed,  but  he  could  not  dis- 
perse the  crowd.  The  populace  remained  in  front  of 
the  church  until  six  o'clock,  ready  to  assault  any  one 
who  might  attempt  to  go  inside.  The  same  commo- 
tion was  shown  in  the  royal  chapel  of  the  Tuileries. 
There  a  grenadier  of  the  National  Guard  declaimed 
furiously  against  the  recusant  priests  who  still  ap- 
proached Louis  XVL  In  the  evening,  incendiary 
speeches  were  made  all  over  Paris. 

The  King,  who  was  recovering  from  a  rather  seri- 
ous illness,  had  intended  to  go  on  INIonday  to  Saint 
Cloud  so  as  to  enjoy  a  week's  repose  and  perform 


114  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

his  religious  duties  with  tranquillity.  Lafayette  and 
Bailly  had  been  the  first  to  advise  this  step.  More- 
over, it  would  give  him  an  occasion  to  find  out  just 
what  his  situation  was,  and  whether  he,  who  had 
given  freedom  to  his  dominions,  was  himself  a  free 
man.  The  event  convinced  him  that  he  was  a  slave. 
A  rumor  got  about  among  the  crowd  that  this  jour- 
ney concealed  counter-revolutionary  ideas.  The 
King,  it  was  said,  had  refractory  priests  hidden  in 
his  palace,  and  secretly  received  communion  from 
their  hands,  instead  of  going  to  his  parish  church, 
Saint  Germain-l'Auxerrois.  The  leaders  added  that 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne  was  full  of  men  wearing  white 
cockades,  and  that  three  thousand  aristocrats  were 
preparing  to  abduct  the  King,  who  would  be  among 
the  Austrians  within  a  fortnight.  Journalists  wrote : 
''  Patriots,  to  arms !  .  .  .  The  mouth  of  kings  is  a 
den  of  lies.  ...  A  fury  hatches  her  brood  of  ser- 
pents in  the  bi^east  of  Louis  XVI.  .  .  .  King,  you 
are  departing,  you  are  going  to  put  yourself  at  the 
head  of  an  Austrian  army.  But  you  are  too  late  in 
setting  about  it.  We  know  you,  great  restorer  of 
liberty.  To-day  your  mask  falls  off,  but  to-morrow 
it  will  be  your  crown." 

On  Monday  in  Holy  Week,  April  18,  at  eleven  in 
the  morning,  the  King,  with  his  wife  and  children 
and  his  sister,  entered  a  carriage  in  the  courtyard  of 
the  Tuileries,  with  the  intention  of  going  to  Saint 
Cloud.  The  nobles  who  were  to  follow  him  were 
the  Prince  of  Poix,  captain  of  the  Guards ;  tlie  Duke 


THE  HOLY   WEEK   OF  1791.  115 

of  Brissac,  captain  of  the  Hundred-Swiss ;  the  ]Mar- 
quis  of  Duras  and  the  Duke  of  Villequier,  First 
Gentlemen  of  the  Chamber ;  and  the  Marquis  of 
Briges,  equerry.  As  the  King  was  stepping  into  the 
carriage,  Cardinal  de  Montmorency-Laval  appeared 
for  an  instant  at  one  of  the  palace  windows.  Some 
of  the  National  Guards  at  once  took  aim  at  him,  and 
he  had  barely  time  to  get  out  of  sight.  At  the  same 
time,  other  guards  precipitated  themselves  upon  the 
royal  carriage  with  shouts  and  menaces,  pointing 
bayonets  at  the  breasts  of  the  horses,  and  declaring 
that  neither  Louis  XVI.  nor  his  family  should  leave 
the  Tuileries.  "  It  would  be  astonishing,"  said  the 
King,  putting  his  head  through  the  carriage  door, 
"  if,  after  giving  liberty  to  the  nation,  I  were  not  to 
be  free  myself." 

Lafayette,  who  was  present  at  this  scandalous 
scene,  made  great  efforts  to  get  the  carriage  started, 
but  in  vain.  Harangues,  threats,  commands,  and 
prayers  were  alike  useless.  "  Hold  your  tongue  !  " 
cried  some  one ;  "  the  King  shall  not  go  away."  —  "  He 
shall  go,"  returned  the  general;  "he  shall  go  if  I 
have  to  use  force  and  cause  bloodshed."  But  the 
resistance  continued,  and  force  was  not  employed. 
During  this  strange  dialogue,  the  Marquis  of  Duras, 
who  had  left  his  carriage,  was  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  one  occupied  by  the  King.  A  grenadier  of  the 
National  Guard  forced  him  away  from  it.  At  this, 
the  Dauphin,  who  until  then  had  shown  no  fear, 
began  to  cry,  and  Louis  XVI.  was  obliged  to  inter- 


116  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

pose  in  order  to  save  M.  de  Duras  from  further  ill- 
treatment.  After  fresh  efforts,  as  unsuccessful  as 
those  which  preceded  them,  Lafayette  told  the  King 
'that  he  could  not  depart  without  danger.  The 
wretched  Prince  cried  three  different  times:  "They 
are  unwilling  then  to  let  me  go  ?  .  .  .  Is  it  impos- 
sible, then,  for  me  to  go  ?  .  .  .  Very  well !  I  am 
going  to  stay." 

The  dispute  had  lasted  about  two  hours,  during 
which  the  grossest  insults  had  been  incessantly  re- 
peated. Unwilling  either  to  set  one  division  of  the 
National  Guards  against  another,  or  to  soil  the  thresh- 
old of  the  Tuileries  with  blood,  Louis  XVI.  left  the 
carriage  and  returned  with  his  family  to  his  apart- 
ments. There  he  found  his  brother,  the  Count  of 
Provence,  and,  pressing  his  hand  tenderly,  he  recited, 
not  without  melancholy,  Horace's  line :  — 

"  Beatus  ille  qui  procul  negotiis  ! " 

Shortly  afterwards,  some  National  Guards  and  com- 
mon people  entered  the  palace,  and  searched  the 
apartments,  the  granaries,  the  courtyards,  and  the 
carriages,  under  pretext  of  discovering  the  refractory 
priests  said  to  be  hidden  there. 

After  what  had  passed  on  this  Monday,  no  doubt 
was  left  in  any  mind  that  royalty  no  longer  existed 
save  in  name.  Never  had  Louis  XVI.  sounded  so 
thoroughly  the  depths  of  his  humiliation.  He  was 
unwilling  that  even  his  faithful  adherents  should 
longer  share  his  bitterness,  and  he  sent  away  a  num- 


THE  HOLY  WEEK  OF  1701.  117 

ber  of  them,  that  they  might  escape  the  insults  that 
were  crushing  him.  He  asked  the  ecclesiastics  who 
officiated  in  his  chapel  to  depart.  These  were  the 
Cardinal  de  Montmorency-Laval,  Grand  Almoner  to 
the  Crown ;  Mgr.  de  Roquelaure,  Bishop  of  Senlis, 
First  Almoner  to  the  King;  and  Mgr.  de  Sabran, 
Bishop  of  Laon,  First  Almoner  to  the  Queen.  The 
Duke  of  Villequier  and  the  Marquis  of  Duras,  First 
Gentlemen  of  the  Chamber,  also  received  orders  to 
leave.  Marie  Antoinette,  knowing  that  her  maid  of 
honor,  the  Princess  of  Chimay,  a  model  of  piety  and 
virtue,  was  daily  threatened  and  insulted,  dismissed 
her,  replacing  her  as  Lady  of  the  Bedchamber  by  the 
Countess  of  Ossun,  who  was  fated  to  perish  on  the 
scaffold,  a  victim  to  her  devotion. 

The  day  was  spent  in  preparations  for  departure. 
The  King  and  Queen  suffered  profoundly  in  seeing 
their  most  faithful  adherents  leave  them,  and  the 
little  Dauphin,  speaking  of  the  revolutionists,  ex- 
claimed sadly,  "  How  wicked  all  these  people  are  to 
give  so  much  pain  to  papa,  who  is  so  good ! " 

On  Holy  Thursday,  April  21,  Madame  Elisabeth 
wrote  to  Madame  de  Bombelles :  "  I  will  not  give 
you  the  details  of  Monday.  I  own  that  I  do  not 
know  them  yet.  All  I  know  is  that  the  King  wished 
to  go  to  Saint  Cloud,  and  that  he  got  into  his  carriage, 
where  he  remained  two  hours ;  that  the  National 
Guards  and  the  people  obstructed  his  passage,  and 
that  he  was  obliged  to  remain.  ...  I  write  in  haste 
because  I  am  dressing  to  go  to  church,  since  they  are 


118  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

still  SO  obliging  as  to  permit  us  to  do  so.  Adieu;  be- 
lieve that  I  will  always  be  worthy  of  the  affection  of 
those  who  desire  to  esteem  me,  and  that,  whatever 
may  happen,  I  will  live  and  die  without  having  any- 
thing to  reproach  myself  with  before  God  and  men." 

This  calmness  and  strength  which  are  given  by 
peace  of  conscience,  Louis  XVI.  no  longer  shared. 
He  was  about  to  be  forced  to  what  he  considered  dis- 
honor as  well  as  humiliation  —  to  be  present  on  Easter 
Sunday,  at  a  Mass  said  in  the  Church  of  Saint  Ger- 
main-l'Auxerrois  by  the  intruding  cure,  a  revolu- 
tionary priest.  Madame  Elisabeth  could  not  believe 
that  her  brother  would  do  this.  On  Holy  Saturday 
she  wrote  to  Madame  de  Raigecourt :  "  It  is  said  in 
Paris  that  the  King  is  going  to-morrow  to  Higli  Mass 
in  the  parish  church.  I  shall  not  be  able  to  believe 
it  until  after  he  has  been  there.  All-powerful  God, 
what  just  punishment  dost  thou  reserve  for  a  people 
gone  so  far  astray?" 

The  unhappy  King,  ashamed  of  this  last  concession, 
sought  means  to  escape  from  a  situation  he  found 
intolerable.  Beginning  that  series  of  subterfuges 
which  tarnishes  the  lustre  of  his  name,  and  which 
a  more  distinct  and  energetic  attitude  would  have 
spared  him,  he  thought  himself  obliged  to  resort  to 
cunning,  the  device  of  the  feeble,  and  by  playing  a 
double  role,  to  imitate  the  example  set  by  Mirabeau. 
The  secret  wish  of  the  constitutional  King  was  to 
take  back  what  he  had  given,  and  to  become  once 
more  an  absolute  monarch.     It  seemed  to  him  that 


THE  HOLY    WEEK  OF  1791.  119 

there  was  no  other  way  to  save  religion,  prevent 
schism,  and  re-establish  the  principle  of  authority. 
It  was  not  ambition,  but  conscience,  which  spoke 
within  him,  and  he  honestly  believed  that  his  duplic- 
ity toward  men  would  be  approved,  protected,  and 
recompensed  by  God. 

On  Tuesday  in  Holy  Week  he  went  before  the 
National  Assembly  to  complain  of  the  violence  of 
which  he  had  been  the  victim  the  previous  day ;  and 
on  the  following  Saturday  he  caused  his  minister, 
M.  de  Montmorin,  to  address  a  circular  to  all  the 
representatives  of  France  at  foreign  courts,  in  which 
he  described  himself  as  the  happiest  of  men  and 
kings. 

At  the  evening  session  of  the  Assembly  that  same 
day,  one  of  the  secretaries  read  this  really  curious 
document.  Not  only  does  Louis  XVI.  profess  in  it 
his  adherence  to  the  Revolution,  "which  is  simply 
the  annihilation  of  a  swarm  of  abuses  which  have 
been  accumulating  for  centuries  through  the  errors 
of  the  people  or  the  power  of  ministers,  which  has 
never  been  the  power  of  kings,"  but  he  causes  it  to 
be  officially  declared  to  foreign  courts  that  "  the  most 
dangerous  of  the  internal  enemies  of  the  French 
nation  are  those  who  have  endeavored  to  cast  doubt 
upon  the  intentions  of  the  monarch,"  and  that  "these 
men  are  very  culpable  or  ver}?-  blind  if  they  consider 
themselves  the  King's  friends."  It  was  thus  that 
Louis  XVI.  pointed  out  to  popular  vengeance  his 
most  intimate  courtiers  and  devoted  servants,  —  the 


120  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

recusant  priests  and  the  nobles  of  the  National 
Assembly.  The  circular,  a  veritable  monument  of 
duplicity,  was  received  with  pretended  transports 
of  delight  and  cries  of  "  Live  the  King ! "  It  was 
decided  to  send  it  to  the  departments,  the  armies, 
and  the  colonies ;  and  all  cures  were  commanded  to 
read  it  at  their  parochial  Masses. 

Marat  protested  against  this  enthusiasm.  In  num- 
ber 443  of  his  A7ni  du  Peuple^  he  exclaimed:  "What! 
all  heads  turned  by  such  a  piece  of  buffoonery !  Will 
you  always  be  duped  by  the  traitors  who  surround 
you  ?  .  .  .  The  circular  is  merely  the  production  of 
some  pedantic  academician,  some  rascally  minister 
of  the  court."  Then  recalling  that  Louis  XVI.  had 
come  on  the  19th  to  complain  that  he  was  not  free, 
he  added:  "Where  did  he  get  the  effrontery  to 
accuse  of  calumny  those  who  have  said  he  is  not 
free,  when  only  five  days  ago  he  came  like  a  school- 
boy to  make  the  same  complaint  to  the  National 
Assembly  ?  " 

The  A77ii  du  Roi  said,  on  the  other  hand :  "  If  the 
despots  of  Europe,  who  are  not  illumined  by  the 
celestial  lights  environing  the  apostles  of  the  Rights 
of  Man,  fancy  that  they  see  in  this  letter  itself 
a  new  proof  of  the  captivity  of  the  King  and  the 
abasement  of  his  power,  no  one  can  be  blamed  ex- 
cept those  who,  by  forcing  the  monarch  to  become 
their  echo,  will  have  made  it  plain  that  he  is  their 
prisoner." 

And  now  comes  Easter  Sunday.  Formerly  it  was  the 


THE  HOLY   WEEK  OF  1791.  121 

day  of  joy,  the  resurrection  clay,  the  day  of  light  and 
life.  Now  it  is  gloomy  and  sorrowful  unto  death.  The 
priests  whose  functions  you  are  obliged  to  attend  in 
the  church  of  Saint  Germain-l'Auxerrois,  unfortunate 
monarch,  you  look  upon  as  apostates  and  traitors. 
Your  sister  Elisabeth  would  not  come  with  you  to  this 
sanctuary,  which  to  her  seems  profaned  by  the  new 
pastor,  the  intruder,  the  constitutional  priest.  Yes ; 
the  priest  who  says  the  Mass  is  a  rebel  against  the 
commands  of  the  Church,  an  enemy  of  Saint  Peter, 
a  salaried  official  of  the  National  Assembly.  Madame 
Elisabeth  has  declared  that  she  would  hear  the  Mass 
of  her  almoner  in  the  chapel  of  the  Tuileries.  Pla- 
cards posted  on  the  walls  of  a  gallery  close  to  her 
apartments  have  threatened  her  with  the  direst  out- 
rages if  she  will  not  accompany  you  to  Saint  Ger- 
main-l'Auxerrois. But  the  intrepid  Avoman  did  not 
allow  herself  to  be  intimidated.  She  is  praying  in 
the  royal  chapel,  while  you,  the  most  Christian  King, 
and  your  Queen  with  you,  sanction  by  your  presence 
the  religious  revolution.  And  while  the  Mass  of 
Easter  Day  is  said  before  you  in  the  old  basilica  of 
Saint  Germain-l'Auxerrois,  heaven  itself  seems  full 
of  wrath :  it  thunders,  a  storm  breaks  overhead,  and 
in  profound  sadness  you  re-enter  your  palace,  or,  to 
speak  more  truly,  your  prison. 


SECOND  PART. 

THE   VARENNES   JOURNEY. 

I. 

PBEPARATIONS   FOR  FLIGHT. 

PROFOUNDLY  stricken  in  his  dignity  as  King 
and  his  conscience  as  a  Christian,  Louis  XVI. 
had  come  to  the  end  of  his  patience.  The  decree  of 
June  5,  1791,  which  deprived  him  of  the  pardoning 
prerogative,  crowned  his  humiliations.  "  The  King's 
liberty  was  taken  away  long  ago,"  said  Madame 
Elisabeth,  "and  now  they  forbid  him  to  be  merci- 
ful." The  unhappy  monarch  had  but  one  idea  left : 
that  of  flight.  He  had  long  been  preoccupied  with 
plans  of  escape.  At  first  he  had  been  dissuaded  by 
historical  precedents.  He  recalled  Charles  I.  led 
to  the  scaffold  for  having  contended  against  Parlia- 
ment, and  James  II.  losing  the  crown  for  having  left 
his  palace.  Mirabeau  had  counselled  a  departure 
from  Paris ;  but  one  which  would  bear  no  resem- 
blance to  a  flight :  "  For,"  said  he,  "  a  king  must  not 
go  away  secretly,  even  though  it  were  to  be  a  king." 
122 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  123 

The  time  was  past  for  acting  in  sucli  a  manner.  A 
departure  by  daylight  was  impossible.  In  June,  1791, 
Louis  XVI.  could  only  fly  by  night,  like  a  fugitive,  like 
a  condemned  wretch  seeking  to  escape.  To  employ 
force  would  have  been  not  merely  useless,  but  danger- 
ous. Even  stratagem  was  not  free  from  great  diffi- 
culties, although  it  remained  the  sole  resource. 

The  obstacles  to  be  overcome  seemed  almost  insur- 
mountable. How  would  it  be  possible  to  deceive  a 
surveillance  which  daily  grew  more  rigorous  ?  How 
escape  incessant  espionage?  How  quit  the  palace, 
and  pass  through  the  city  without  being  recognized 
and  followed  ?  Six  hundred  National  Guards  were 
constantly  on  duty  at  the  Tuileries.  Two  mounted 
sentries  were  always  posted  before  the  outer  door. 
There  were  sentinels  everywhere,  indoors  and  out. 
They  were  to  be  found  in  the  passages  between  the 
bedchambers  of  the  King  and  Queen,  and  even  in 
the  little  dark  corridor  contrived  in  the  roof,  where 
the  private  staircases  terminated.  Officers  of  the 
National  Guard,  nearly  all  of  them  revolutionists, 
performed  the  duties  once  assigned  to  the  body- 
guards. Neither  the  King  nor  the  Queen  could  go 
out  unattended  by  a  certain  number  of  them.  In 
addition  to  this  public  surveillance  there  was  that  of 
the  servants,  perhaps  still  more  dangerous.  Almost 
every  one  of  them  were  spies.  Marie  Antoinette  felt 
convinced  that  among  all  her  attendants  she  could 
count  safely  on  none  but  her  first  lady's-maids  and 
one  or  two  footmen. 


124  MAItlE  ANTOINETTE. 

At  first  glance,  escape  seemed  absolutely  imprac- 
ticable ;  but  the  captives  were  ingenious.  Louis 
XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette  did  not  despair,  and  they 
prepared  patiently  an  entire  series  of  stratagems  to 
evade  their  pretended  defenders,  who  were  in  reality 
their  jailers. 

Some  of  the  National  Guards,  on  duty  by  night 
and  day,  slept  on  mattresses  before  the  doors  of  the 
royal  bedchambers.  It  was  useless,  therefore,  to 
think  of  passing  through  these  doors.  But,  happily, 
there  was  a  door,  long  since  disused,  which  was  con- 
cealed by  a  piece  of  furniture  easily  moved.  By 
dint  of  searching  for  the  place  whence  they  could 
leave  the  palace  with  least  risk,  Marie  Antoinette 
had  discovered  that  one  of  her  women,  Madame  de 
Ronchreuil,  occupied  a  little  room  communicating  by 
a  corridor  with  her  apartment,  and  which  might  be 
utilized  for  the  project  of  escape.  This  little  room 
opened  into  the  apartment  of  the  Duke  of  Villequier, 
which  had  one  exit  on  the  Court  of  the  Princes,  and 
another  on  the  Court  Royal.  The  Duke  of  Villequier 
had  just  emigrated,  and  his  apartment  remained  un- 
occupied. Marie  Antoinette  procured  the  key  to  it. 
From  thence  one  might  hope  to  leave  the  chateau 
without  being  recognized.  There  were  many  sentries 
stationed  in  the  courtyards,  but  none  at  the  door  of 
M.  de  Villequier's  apartment;  moreover,  at  certain 
hours  they  were  accustomed  to  see  many  persons  leav- 
ing the  Tuileries  at  the  same  time,  notably  toward 
eleven  or  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  when  the  service 
of  the  day  was  over. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  125 

The  scheme  adopted  by  Louis  XVI.  was  to  go  to 
Montmcdy,  a  fortified  town  bordering  the  Emperor's 
dominions  and  within  reach  of  the  fortress  of  Luxem- 
bourg. In  case  of  disaster,  it  would  be  easy  to  take 
refuge  in  this  fortress,  which  was  esteemed  the 
strongest  one  in  Europe.  Another  advantage  was 
the  possibility  of  receiving  aid  from  an  Austrian 
army  should  it  become  necessary.  The  Emperor 
Leopold,  Marie  Antoinette's  brother,  had  ascended 
the  throne  within  a  year,  and  had  expressed  his 
intention  to  serve  the  interests  of  his  sister  and  his 
brother-in-law. 

The  town  of  Montmcdy,  like  the  whole  French 
frontier,  from  the  Moselle  and  the  Sambre  to  Switzer- 
land, had  been  placed  under  the  command  of  an 
ardent  royalist.  Lieutenant  -  General  Marquis  de 
Bouill^.  His  American  campaign  had  won  him  the 
reputation  of  an  officer  of  the  first  rank,  and  the 
firmness  he  had  recently  shown  in  suppressing 
the  outbreaks  at  Nancy  had  increased  his  military 
renown.  The  National  Assembly  feared  him,  and 
treated  him  with  deference.  Unwilling  to  be  subject 
to  any  one  except  the  King,  he  had  refused  to  hold 
relations  with  the  Count  of  Artois  and  the  Prince  of 
Cond^.  Baron  de  Breteuil,  who,  in  the  emigration, 
was  the  secret  agent  of  Louis  XVL,  persuaded  the 
sovereign  that  the  Marquis  of  Bouille  was  the  right 
man  to  trust,  and  Avas  authorized  to  make  overtures 
to  him  in  the  King's  name. 

M.  de  Bouille  received  these  overtures  with  trans- 


126  MARIE  ANTOIJ^ETTE. 


port,  happy  at  being  able  to  conciliate  his  mon- 
archical zeal  with  the  interests  of  his  ambition.  A 
correspondence  in  cipher  was  carried  on  between 
the  monarch  and  the  general.  Unfortunately,  revolu- 
tionary aspirations  were  pervading  nearly  all  ranks 
of  the  Army  of  the  East ;  and  M.  de  Bouill^  could 
not  count  on  the  fidelity  of  more  than  about  a  score 
of  German  battalions  and  three  or  four  regiments  of 
cavalry.  At  first  he  proposed  that  the  King  should 
take  the  Flanders  route,  as  the  shortest  and  most 
secure  way  of  leaving  the  kingdom,  and  enter  Mont- 
medy  from  without.  This  plan  was  rejected  because 
the  King  was  unwilling,  under  any  pretext,  to  leave 
his  own  dominions,  as  that  might  give  occasion  for 
decreeing  his  deposition.  Then  M.  de  Bouille  sug- 
gested the  Rheims  route,  where  there  were  not  many 
towns  to  pass  through,  and  which  could  easily  be 
protected.  But  Louis  XVI.  objected  that  it  would 
be  dangerous  for  him  to  pass  through  Rheims,  where 
his  face  had  been  well  known  since  his  consecration. 
This  route  was  given  up  therefore,  and  that  of 
Chalons-sur-Marne,  Clermont,  and  Varennes  settled 
on. 

It  was  also  agreed  that  the  King  should  charge 
himself  with  all  the  details  of  the  journey  from  Paris 
to  Chalons-sur-Marne,  and  that,  after  leaving  there, 
M.  de  Bouille  should  take  the  responsibility  for  the 
remainder.  May  27,  1791,  Louis  XVI.  wrote  liim 
that  he  would  start  on  the  19th  of  the  following 
month,  between  midnight  and  one  o'clock ;  that  he 


PREFAB ATIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  127 

would  go  in  a  private  carriage  to  Boncly,  a  post- 
station  near  Paris,  where  he  would  take  a  double 
carriage  which  was  to  be  waiting  for  him,  and  that 
one  of  his  body-guards  would  act  as  courier.  The 
general  stationed  a  small  army  corps  under  Mont- 
mc^dy  and  took  care  to  dispose  troops  at  intervals 
along  the  route,  from  this  town  to  Chalons.  The 
Royal-German  regiment  was  at  Stenay,  one  squadron 
of  hussars  at  Dun,  and  another  at  Varennes.  Two 
squadrons  of  dragoons  were  to  be  at  Clermont  on 
the  day  when  the  King  passed  through.  They  were 
under  the  command  of  Count  Charles  de  Damas,  who 
had  been  ordered  to  take  a  detachment  to  Sainte- 
Menehould.  Moreover,  fifty  hussars  from  Varennes 
were  to  be  at  Pont-de-Somme-Yesle. 

June  15,  M.  de  Bouille  received  a  letter  from  the 
King,  announcing  that  the  departure,  delayed  for  a 
day,  would  not  take  place  until  between  twelve  and 
one  in  the  night  of  June  20-21. 

The  delay  was  occasioned  by  the  necessity  of  con- 
cealing the  preparations  for  flight  from  one  of  the 
Queen's  chamber-maids,  an  ardent  democrat,  whose 
time  of  service  would  not  exj^ire  until  the  19tli. 
M.  de  Bouille  was  annoyed.  He  had  already  issued 
his  orders  for  the  departure  of  the  two  squadrons 
who  were  to  be  at  Clermont  when  the  King  arrived, 
and  now  he  was  obliged  to  double  the  time  of  their 
stay  in  that  town,  which  might  give  rise  to  sus- 
picions. 

Meanwhile,  Louis  XVI.  and  the  Queen  were  pain- 


128  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

fully  completing  their  preparations  for  escape.  Their 
principal  assistant  was  Count  cle  Fersen,  a  foreigner 
who  served  France  in  the  capacity  of  colonel-proprie- 
tor of  the  regiment  of  Royal  Swedes.  In  happier 
days  he  had  been  one  of  Marie  Antoinette's  favor- 
ites, and  he  felt  toward  her  one  of  those  profound 
and  lofty  sentiments  which  have  their  birth  in  roman- 
tic and  chivalrous  hearts  and  fill  their  whole  exist- 
ence. 

Marie  Antoinette,  on  her  part,  if  her  calumniators 
are  to  be  believed,  may  have  felt  something  warmer 
than  friendship  for  the  handsome  Swede.  A  hint  of 
this  suspicion  is  found  in  the  Souvenirs  et  Portraits  of 
the  Duke  of  L^vis.  Speaking. of  M.  de  Fersen  and 
his  part  in  the  Varennes  journey,  he  makes  this 
malicious  reflection :  "  It  was  unseemly,  on  more 
accounts  than  one,  that  on  this  perilous  occasion  M.  de 
Fersen  should  have  occupied  a  post  properly  belong- 
ing to  some  great  French  noble." 

Marie  Antoinette  was  right  in  counting  on  the 
devotion  of  this  gentleman,  who  had  the  soul  of  a 
knight-errant.  He  it  was  that  organized  the  prepa- 
rations for  departure.  As  the  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs  had  not  been  taken  into  confidence,  the  first 
difficulty  was  to  obtain  a  passport  for  the  royal 
family.  M.  de  Fersen  undertook  to  overcome  it. 
One  of  his  friends,  a  noble  Russian  lady.  Baroness  de 
Korff,  was  about  to  leave  France  and  return  to  her 
own  country.  She  meant  to  take  her  two  children, 
a  man-servant  and  two  chamber-maids  with  her,  and 


PREPARATIONS  FOR   FLIGHT.  129 

had  applied  to  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs, 
through  the  intermediation  of  the  Russian  embassy, 
for  the  necessary  passport.  As  soon  as  it  was 
received,  she  gave  it  to  M.  de  Fersen.  It  was  this 
passport  which  w^as  to  serve  Louis'  XVI.,  Marie 
Antoinette,  the  Dauphin,  Madame  Royale,  Madame 
Elisabeth,  and  Madame  de  Tourzel,  the  children's 
governess. 

M.  de  Fersen  had  also  undertaken  to  procure,  in 
the  name  of  the  Baroness  de  Korff,  the  carriage  to 
be  used  by  the  royal  family.  It  was  a  very  large, 
double-seated  vehicle  called  a  berline,  which  had  been 
ordered  from  a  Parisian  saddler  on  December  22, 
1790,  and  which  cost  594-1  livres.  The  way  in  which 
it  was  made  was  enough  to  arouse  suspicion,  for,  as 
the  King  was  unwilling  to  be  separated  from  his 
family,  and  as  Madame  de  Tourzel  insisted  on  accom- 
panying them,  an  exceptionally  large  carriage  was 
needed ;  moreover,  various  accessories  had  been  pro- 
vided which  were  likely  to  arrest  attention.  For  the 
rest,  it  was  agreed  that  the  fugitives  should  leave 
Paris  in  a  large  hackney  coach,  driven  by  Count  de 
Fersen,  disguised  as  a  coachman,  and  not  enter  their 
own  carriage  until  they  arrived  at  Bondy. 

Louis  XVI.  desired  also  to  be  accompanied  by 
three  of  his  former  body-guards,  wdio  had  been  dis- 
banded after  the  October  days  of  1789.  He  commis- 
sioned Count  d'Aofoult  to  choose  amoncr  them,  for 
this  difficult  task,  three  men  especially  energetic 
and  devoted,   and  of   tried  discretion   and   courage. 


130  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

M.  d'Agoult  selected  MM.  de  Yaloiy,  de  Moustier, 
and  de  Maiden,  who,  at  the  time  of  the  October 
days,  had  distinguished  themselves  by  defending  the 
Queen's  apartments  at  Versailles  at  the  peril  of  their 
lives.  They  availed  themselves  enthusiastically  of 
an  occasion  for  still  further  devotion,  and  were 
secretly  presented,  June  17,  to  Louis  XVI.  and  the 
Queen  at  the  Tuileries.  Marie  Antoinette  asked 
all  three  of  them  their  baptismal  names,  saying  that 
during  the  journey  each  would  be  called  by  his 
own,  as  it  was  necessary  they  should  be  taken  for 
dpmestic  servants.  They  were  to  wear  yellow  vests, 
in  the  style  of  those  worn  by  couriers.  The  King 
gave  them  detailed  instructions  on  essential  points, 
and  all  three  swore  boundless  fidelity  to  their  master. 
The  preparations  being  now  completed,  the  fugitives 
waited  impatiently  for  the  20th  of  June,  the  date 
appointed  for  their  escape,  and  besought  God  to  look 
favorably  on  their  project. 


II. 

JUNE  TWENTIETH,  1791. 

THE  twentieth  day  of  June,  1791,  did  not  pass 
without  anxieties.  The  flight  was  to  take 
place  at  midnight,  and  at  every  instant  the  fugitives 
feared  lest  their  intention  should  be  discovered. 
Vague  rumors  were  circulating  throughout  the  city, 
and  at  the  Tuileries  the  domestics  were  whispering 
together.  One  of  the  three  body-guards,  who  were 
to  accompany  them  as  couriers,  was  acquainted  with 
M.  de  Gouvion,  major-general  of  the  National  Guard, 
and  the  confidant  of  Lafayette,  who  resided  in  the 
palace.  In  the  morning,  M.  de  Valory  made  a  call 
on  him  to  ascertain  whether  the  King's  intention  was 
suspected.  M.  de  Valory  having  alluded  to  the 
alarms  disseminated  by  the  newspapers,  M.  de  Gouvion 
replied:  "I  will  wager  my  head  that  the  King  has 
not  the  least  desire  to  leave  Paris.  He  is  certain 
that  no  one  bears  ill-will  to  his  person,  and  that 
when  once  the  desired  changes  in  the  government 
are  effected,  he  will  be  more  pow^erful  than  ever." 
M.  de  Valory  went  afterwards  to  the  Queen  to 
acquaint  her  with  these  reassuring  words. 

131 


132  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

The  moment  that  he  entered,  through  a  small  door 
opening  on  the  dark  corridor  dividing  in  two  the 
apartments  on  the  ground-floor,  Marie  Antoinette 
said  to  him:  "I  thought  I  recognized  M.  de  La- 
fayette's footstep.  That  man  frightens  me  so  that  I 
fancy  I  hear  or  see  him  every  minute."  Apprised  of 
the  remark  made  by  the  major-general  of  the  National 
Guard,  she  added ;  "  I  thank  you  for  the  relief  you 
bring  me ;  I  have  need  of  it.  Well !  we  are  approach- 
ing the  terrible  moment.  Can  we  get  away  from  here 
without  being  recognized?  ...  M.  de  Lafayette  has 
doubled  the  guards  in  every  direction."  —  "Madame," 
answered  M.  de  Valory,  "he  has  taken  this  precau- 
tion to  reassure  those  who  are  uneasy,  and  to  quiet 
the  grumblers,  rather  than  because  he  has  any  fears 
himself.  I  venture  to  propose  that  Your  Majesty 
should  permit  me  to  see  M.  de  Gouvion  again  this 
afternoon.  If  I  find  him  still  confident,  M.  de  La- 
fayette must  be  so  likewise,  and  it  will  be  safe  to 
wager  that  we  shall  make  our  escape  from  the  palace 
without  difficulty." 

Then  the  King,  coming  in,  said :  "  If  they  suspect 
nothing,  we  shall  easily  get  away.  .  .  .  You  are  an 
officer  of  my  body-guards.  If  we  arrive  in  safety, 
you  and  your  comrades  will  not  be  forgotten.  .  .  . 
I  shall  spend  to-morrow  night  at  the  Abbaye-d'Orval. 
The  Marquis  of  Bouill^  is  awaiting  me  before  Mont- 
m^dy  with  an  army  corps.  Strong  detachments  of 
hussars  and  drasfoons  are  stationed  at  Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesle,  Sainte  Menehould,  Clermont,  Varennes,  and 


JUNE  TWENTIETH,   1701.  133 

Dun.  You  will  go  in  advance  of  my  carriage.  When 
you  reach  Pont-de-Somme-Vesle,  ask  for  the  Duke 
of  Choiseul :  he  is  in  command  of  the  squadron  of 
Lauzun's  hussars  which  is  stationed  there  ;  he  will 
obtain  an  interview  for  you  with  an  aide-de-camp  of 
M.  de  Bouille,  whom  you  will  instruct,  in  my  name, 
to  execute  the  orders  he  has  received."  Louis  XVI. 
then  gave  M.  de  Valory  detailed  instructions  and 
sent  *him  away,  saying,  "  This  evening,  at  half-past 
eleven." 

Meanwhile,  no  change  was  made  in  the  etiquette 
and  ordinary  customs  of  the  court.  Nothing  remark- 
able had  occurred  during  the  day  which  might  attract 
attention.  At  eleven  in  the  morning  the  Queen 
went  to  Mass,  and,  on  leaving  the  chapel,  ordered 
her  carriage  for  a  drive  at  five  in  the  afternoon. 

Madame  Royale  (the  future  Duchess  of  Angou- 
leme)  has  preserved  in  a  curious  narrative  an 
account  of  her  impressions  during  the  hours  preced- 
ing the  departure.  "It  seemed  to  me  all  day,"  she 
says,  "  that  my  father  and  mother  were  very  anxious 
and  absorbed,  without  my  understanding  why.  After 
dinner  they  sent  my  brother  and  me  into  another 
room,  and  remained  alone  with  my  aunt.  I  have 
since  learned  that  it  was  then  they  informed  her  of 
their  project  of  flight."  At  five  in  the  evening  Marie 
Antoinette  went  out  with  her  two  children  and  two 
ladies  of  her  suite  to  the  Tivoli  gardens,  at  the 
extremity  of  the  Chaussde  d'Antin.  "  During  our 
walk,"  adds  Madame  Royale,  "  my  mother  took  me 


134  31  ABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

aside  and  told  me  I  must  not  be  uneasy  about  what 
I  was  going  to  see,  and  that  we  should  not  be  sepa- 
rated long,  but  would  quickly  rejoin  each  other.  I 
listened,  but  without  understanding  in  the  least  what 
she  meant.  She  kissed  me,  and  said  that  if  the 
ladies  asked  why  I  was  so  agitated,  I  must  tell  them 
that  she  had  been  scolding  me,  but  I  had  made  it  up 
with  her.  We  returned  home  at  seven  o'clock.  I 
felt  very  sad,  for  I  did  not  comprehend  what  my 
mother  had  told  me.  I  was  all  alone.  My  mother 
had  invited  Madame  de  Mackau  to  go  to  the  Visita- 
tion Convent,  which  she  frequently  visited,  and  she 
had  sent  away  to  the  country  the  young  person  who 
usually  stayed  with  me."   ' 

And  now  the  Count  of  Provence,  the  future  Louis 
XYIII.,  shall  narrate  to  us  his  last  meeting  with 
Louis  XVI.  It  was  his  intention  also  to  depart  that 
night  for  Belgium,  whence  he  expected  to  go  to 
rejoin  the  King.  He  came  to  the  Tuileries  with  his 
wife  in  the  evening,  to  sup  Avith  the  royal  family 
and  receive  the  commands  of  Louis  XVI.  The  two 
brothers,  who  expected  to  meet  again  before  the 
week  was  over,  were  about  to  separate  forever. 

Before  supper.  Monsieur  chatted  for  some  minutes 
with  his  sister,  Madame  Elisabeth,  who  had  been  in- 
formed of  the  proposed  flight  only  that  afternoon. 
"I  found  her  tranquil,"  says  the  Count  of  Provence, 
"  submissive  to  the  will  of  God ;  satisfied,  but  not 
manifesting  extravagant  joy,  —  in  a  word,  as  calm  as 
if  she  had  known  about  the  project  for  a  year.     We 


JUNE  TWENTIETH,    1791.  135 

embraced  each  other  most  affectionately.  Afterwards, 
she  said  to  me :  '  Brother,  you  are  religious ;  let  me 
give  you  a  little  picture.  It  can  bring  you  nothing 
but  good  luck.'  I  accepted  it,  as  may  easily  be  be- 
lieved, with  as  much  pleasure  as  gratitude.  We 
talked  for  some  time  about  tlie  great  enterprise,  and, 
without  allowing  myself  to  be  blinded  by  my  tender- 
ness, I  must  say  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  reason 
with  more  coolness  and  judgment  than  she  displayed. 
I  could  not  avoid  admiring  her." 

Afterwards,  the  Count  of  Provence  went  down  to 
the  apartment  of  the  Queen.  As  he  embraced  her 
with  great  effusion,  "Take  care  not  to  unnerve  me," 
said  Marie  Antoinette ;  "  I  would  not  like  any  one  to 
see  that  I  have  been  cr3dng."  The  Prince  and  his 
wife  took  supper  with  the  King,  the  Queen,  and  Ma- 
dame Elisabeth.  Neither  of  them  suspected  that  it 
was  the  last  meal  they  were  to  eat  together.  All 
five  remained  in  conversation  until  nearly  eleven 
o'clock.  When  the  moment  to  separate  had  come, 
Louis  XVI.,  who  had  not  yet  informed  his  brother  to 
what  place  he  was  going,  now  said  that  he  was  bound 
for  Montm^dy,  and  directed  Monsieur  to  repair  to 
Longwy,  by  way  of  Lower  Austria.  The  brothere 
then  bade  each  other  farewell,  in  the  hope  of  rejoin- 
ing each  other  in  a  place  of  safety  within  four  days. 

The  moment  of  departure  was  approaching.  After 
all,  the  day  had  passed  very  well.  There  had  been 
no  denunciation  and  no  grave  suspicions.  Tlie  King 
received  the  usual  visitors  in  liis  bedroom.     The  or- 


136  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

dinary  ways  of  the  palace  had  been  scrupulously 
observed.  Orders  for  the  next  day  were  given  to  the 
servants.  Doors  were  closed  and  locked.  The  lights 
were  put  out.  The  members  of  the  I'oyal  family  had 
gone  to  bed.    A  few  minutes  later  they  got  up  again. 


III. 


THE  DEPARTUPwE. 


THE  moment  of  departure  had  arrived.  The  fugi- 
tives were  not  to  leave  the  Tuileries  all  together. 
It  was  arranged  that  the  Dauphin  and  his  sister,  ac- 
companied by  Madame  de  Tourzel,  should  go  first. 
A  few  moments  later,  the  King,  the  Queen,  and 
Madame  Elisabeth  would  leave  the  palace  one  by 
one. 

Toward  ten  o'clock,  while  the  Count  and  Countess 
of  Provence  were  still  at  the  Tuileries,  the  Queen 
went  to  her  daughter's  room,  and  bade  her  get  ready. 
She  dressed  her  in  a  brown  chintz  frock,  which  had 
cost  ninety  cents.  The  first  chambermaid  of  the 
young  Princess,  Madame  Brunier,  was  in  the  room, 
and  Marie  Antoinette  told  her  what  was  about  to 
happen.  "  I  would  like,"  said  she,  "  to  have  you  go 
with  us.  But  since  you  have  your  husband,  you  may 
remain."  Madame  Brunier  did  not  hesitate  a  moment 
in  responding  that  she  would  follow  the  Queen  wher- 
ever she  went.  It  was  settled  that  both  she  and 
Madame  de  Neuville,  first  chambermaid  to  the  Dau- 
phin, should  be  of  the  party,  and  that  they  should 

137 


138  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 


set  off  at  once,  in  a  special  carriage,  and  rejoin  the 
royal  family  at  Bondy. 

Marie  Antoinette  went  from  her  daughter's  room 
to  that  of  her  son,  to  awaken  him.  "  Get  up,"  she 
said  to  him ;  "  you  are  going  to  a  place  of  war,  where 
you  will  command  your  regiment."  At  these  words, 
the  child  sprang  out  of  bed,  saying,  "  Quick,  quick ! 
Let  us  hurry.  Give  me  my  sabre  and  my  boots,  and 
let  us  go."  What  they  gave  him  was  neither  boots 
nor  a  sabre,  but  a  little  girl's  dress,  a  frock  and  bon- 
net, which  the  governess  of  the  royal  children,  Ma- 
dame de  Tourzel,  had  prepared,  in  expectation  of  cir- 
cumstances which  might  render  a  disguise  necessary. 
The  passport  to  be  used  by  the  fugitives  stated  that 
Madame  de  Korff  was  accompanied  by  her  two  daugh- 
ters. It  was  necessar}^,  therefore,  that  the  Dauphin 
should  be  considered  the  sister  of  Madame  Royale. 
"  They  dressed  my  brother  as  a  little  girl,"  says  this 
Princess,  in  her  account  of  the  journey.  "He  was 
charming.  As  he  had  fallen  asleep,  he  did  not  know 
what  happened.  I  asked  him  what  he  thought  was 
going  to  be  done.  He  said  he  thought  there  was  to 
be  a  comedy,  because  we  were  disguised."  A  strange 
comedy,  in  fact,  which  was  to  end  by  a  terrible 
drama ! 

The  two  children  and  their  governess,  Madame  de 
Tourzel,  passed  out  through  the  apartment  of  the 
Duke  of  Villequier.  In  front  of  the  palace  there 
were  three  courts :  that  of  the  Switzers,  in  front  of 
the  Pavilion  of  Marsan ;  the  Royal  Court,  in  front 


THE  DEPARTURE.  139 

of  the  Pavilion  of  the  Centre ;  and  the  Court  of  the 
Princes,  in  front  of  the  Pavilion  of  Flora.  The 
apartment  of  M.  de  Villequier  had  a  door  by  which 
one  could  go  down  into  the  latter  court,  and  as  it 
liad  been  empty  since  the  Duke  emigrated,  no  sentry 
was  now  posted  there.  Marie  Antoinette  wished  to 
superintend  in  person  the  departure  of  her  children. 
She  went  with  them  into  the  Court  of  the  Princes, 
running  a  great  risk  thereby,  as  Madame  Roy  ale  has 
remarked  in  her  narration.  A  large  hackney  coach  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  court,  with  M.  de  Fer- 
sen  on  the  box,  disguised  as  a  coachman.  This  coach 
was  to  take  the  children  to  the  Barriere  de  Clichy, 
Avhere  the  berlin  intended  for  the  journey  was  to 
await  them.  The  Dauphin,  his  sister,  and  jNIadame 
de  Tourzel  got  into  the  carriage,  and  the  Queen  went 
back  into  the  palace.  The  coach  passed  out  of  the 
Court  of  the  Princes,  and  went  through  the  rue  Saint 
Honore  to  the  Little  Carrousel,  opposite  the  house 
called  the  Hotel  de  Guaillarbois,  near  the  rue  de 
I'Echelle  and  the  rue  Saint  Nicaise.  They  were  to  be 
rejoined  at  this  point  by  the  King  and  Queen  and 
]\Iadame  Elisabeth,  who  were  to  leave'  the  Tuileries 
separately,  and  on  foot. 

Meanwhile,  the  King  had  just  held  his  reception, 
and  gone  to  bed  with  all  the  usual  ceremony.  He 
had  risen  again  immediately.  He  had  disguised  him- 
self with  a  wig,  and  put  on  the  costume  in  which 
he  expected  to  pass  himself  off  as  M.  Durand,  tlie 
Baroness  de  Korff's  steward.    Accompanied  by  M.  de 


140  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Yalory  he  went  quietly  out  of  the  palace  by  the  prin- 
cipal door,  that  of  the  Pavilion  of  the  Centre.  The 
sentries  did  not  recognize  him.  He  was  supposed  to 
be  one  of  the  numerous  persons  who  left  the  Tuileries 
every  night  toward  twelve  o'clock,  after  the  King 
had  gone  to  bed. 

The  Queen  and  Madame  Elisabeth  went  out,  one 
after  the  other,  through  the  door  of  M.  de  Villequier's 
apartment.  Marie  Antoinette  wore  a  sort  of  brown 
tunic,  a  black  hat  in  the  Chinese  style,  ornamented 
with  a  long  piece  of  lace  which  answered  for  a  veil. 
M.  de  Moustier  gave  her  his  arm ;  Madame  Elisabeth 
was  attended  by  M.  de  Maiden. 

All  this  time  the  coach  containing  the  Dauphin, 
his  sister,  and  their  governess,  was  standing  in  the 
Little  Carrousel,  in  front  of  the  H6tel  de  Guaillarbois. 
"  My  brother,"  says  Madame  Royale,  "  was  lying  in 
the  bottom  of  the  carriage,  under  Madame  de  Touzel's 
gown.  We  saw  M.  de  Lafayette  pass,  returning  from 
my  father's  bedchamber.  We  were  waiting  there  at 
least  an  hour,  without  knowing  what  had  happened. 
Never  has  any  time  seemed  to  me  so  long.  .  .  .  At 
last,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  I  saw  a  woman  walking 
around  the  carriage.  I  was  afraid  that  we  had  been 
discovered,  but  I  was  reassured  by  seeing  the  coach- 
man open  the  door.     It  was  my  aunt." 

A  few  minutes  later  Louis  XVI.  arrived.  There 
was  no  one  missing  now  except  the  Queen.  Each 
minute  of  delay  caused  the  fugitives  inexpressible 
anguish.     They  said  to  each  other  that  Marie  Antoi- 


THE  DEPARTURE.  141 

nette  had  doubtless  been  recognized,  and  as  they 
would  not  on  any  account  start  without  her,  they 
thought  they  would  be  obliged  to  abandon  their 
journey. 

The  Queen  had  not  been  recognized,  but  she  had 
lost  her  way.  The  vast  space  which  separates  the 
Tuileries  from  the  Louvre,  and  which  is  now  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  spots  in  Europe,  was  then  a  laby- 
rinth where  numerous  streets  crossed  each  other, 
the  Carrousel,  Saint  Nicaise,  Rohan,  Chartres,  Saint 
Thomas  du  Louvre,  des  Orties,  and  others. 

The  Queen  was  bewildered  in  this  maze.  She  had 
just  been  greatly  alarmed  by  seeing  the  carriage  of 
General  Lafayette,  who  was  coming  from  the  Tui- 
leries where  he  had  made  his  rounds  after  being  pres- 
ent in  the  King's  bedchamber.  The  apparition  of  a 
ghost  would  not  have  frightened  Marie  Antoinette 
more.  Several  lackeys  surrounded  the  carriage,  hold- 
ing lighted  torches  which  shed  so  much  light  that 
the  fugitive,  persuaded  that  the  General  was  about  to 
recognize  her,  quitted  M.  de  Moustier's  arm  in  dis- 
may, and  fled  in  a  different  direction.  M.  de  Moustier 
tried  to  reassure  her  by  pointing  out  tliat  the  torches, 
placed  between  her  and  M.  de  Lafayette,  must  dazzle 
the  latter's  eyes,  and  prevent  his  recognition  of  her. 

In  her  terror,  the  Queen  mistook  her  way  and  got 
lost  among  the  streets  surrounding  the  Carrousel. 
She  turned  to  the  left  instead  of  the  right,  and  went 
toward  the  Pont  Royal:  the  night  was  dark,  and 
she  did  not  know  whither  she  was  oroins^.     -M.  de 


142  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Moustier  could  neither  guide  her  nor  find  the  way 
himself.  They  were  obliged  to  ask  the  sentry  on 
the  bridge,  and  then  retrace  their  steps,  pass  the 
wickets  beside  the  river,  go  along  the  Court  of 
the  Princes,  the  Court  Royal,  and  the  Court  of  the 
Switzers,  in  order  to  arrive  finally  at  the  corner  of 
the  rue  de  TEchelle,  where  the  hackney-coach  con- 
taining the  other  fugitives  was  still  standing  before 
the  Hotel  Guaillarbois. 

Reunited  at  last  after  so  much  anguish,  they  offered 
thanks  to  Divine  Providence.  The  coach  door  was 
closed.  M.  de  Fersen  whipped  up  his  horses  and 
gained  the  Barriere  de  Clichy,  where  they  were  to 
find  the  three  body-guards,  and  the  berlin  in  which 
their  journey  was  to  be  accomplished. 

It  was  the  shortest  night  of  the  year,  and  day 
had  already  begun  to  break.  It  was  about  two 
o'clock.  At  first  there  was  some  difficulty  in  finding 
the  lAace  where  the  berlin  was  to  be,  and  Louis 
XVI.  got  out  of  the  coach,  to  the  great  uneasiness 
of  his  family.  At  last  M.  de  Fersen  came  up  with 
it.  The  doors  of  the  two  vehicles  v/ere  placed  side 
by  side,  and  the  fugitives  passed  from  one  to  the 
other.  The  hackney-coach  was  left  beside  the  road 
with  no  one  to  watch  it.  The  berlin  was  drawn  by 
five  horses.  One  of  M.  de  Fersen's  servants  acted 
as  postilion,  M.  de  Fersen  and  two  of  the  body- 
guards, MM.  de  Moustier  and  de  Maiden,  mounted 
the  coachman's  box.  M.  de  Valory  had  gone  ahead 
on  horseback  to  order  relays  at  Bondy.     "  Come  on, 


THE  DEPARTURE.  14 


Q 


now,  be  bold !  drive  fast ! "  cried  M.   de  Fersen  to 
the  postilion. 

The  horses  galloped  at  full  speed.  Bondy  was 
quickly  reached  and  the  horses  changed.  Here 
M.  de  Fersen  took  his  leave  of  the  royal  family. 
He  was  to  start  for  Brussels  the  next  day,  but  he 
wished  first  to  re-enter  Paris,  so  as  to  assure  himself 
whether  the  flight  had  yet  been  discovered.  When 
he  arrived,  in  broad  daylight,  he  went  to  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  the  mayor's  office,  and  the  staff-office  of  the 
National  Guard.  Everything  was  quiet  in  these 
three  places;  he  concluded,  therefore,  that  nothing 
had  thus  far  been  suspected.  Meanwhile,  Louis 
XVI.  and  his  family  were  quietly  continuing  their 
route,  and  the  journey,  which  was  to  end  so  badly, 
began  well. 


IV. 

JUNE  TWENTIETH,   1791,  IN   PARIS. 

IN  Paris,  the  night  of  June  20-21  had  passed  very 
quietly.  Nobody  suspected  that  the  King  was  no 
longer  in  his  capital,  and  even  at  the  Tuileries  there 
were  neither  doubts  nor  misgivings.  According  to 
his  usual  custom,  the  Dauphin's  physician  entered 
the  apartment  of  the  young  Prince  toward  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  to  see  how  he  was  getting  on. 
He  found  his  room  empty.  He  passed  into  the  a|)art- 
ment  of  Madame  Royale,  where  he  supposed  the 
Prince  might  be.  Seeing  neither  the  sister  nor  the 
brother,  he  began  to  be  uneasy.  The  alarm  spread. 
It  was  discovered  that  the  chambers  of  the  King,  the 
Queen,  and  Madame  Elisabeth  were  likewise  deserted. 
A  message  Avas  sent  immediately  to  M.  de  Lafayette, 
who  was  at  first  unwilling  to  believe  it.  The  news 
spread  through  Paris  very  quickly.  The  tocsin 
was  sounded.  The  drums  beat  the  general  alarm. 
The  people,  believing  themselves  betrayed,  flocked 
around  the  Tuileries,  the  H6tel  de  Ville,  and  the 
National  Assembly.  Lafayette,  who  had  gone  in  all 
haste  to  the  palace,  and  afterwards  to  the  Assembly, 

144 


JUNE  TWENTIETH,    1791,   IN  PARIS.  145 

was  assailed  as  he  passed  by  men  who  threatened  to 
kill  him.  Meanwhile,  the  Assembly  had  just  met. 
It  was  presided  over  by  Alexandre  de  Beauharaais, 
husband  of  the  futare  Empress  Josephine.  He  an- 
nounced the  flight  of  the  royal  family.  The  Assem- 
bly, calm  and  grave,  took  all  necessary  measures 
without  delay.  The  INlinisters  were  summoned,  and 
couriers  sent  to  the  departments,  with  orders  direct- 
ing all  public  functionaries.  National  Guards,  and 
troops  of  the  line  to  arrest  any  persons  leaving  the 
kingdom.  M.  de  Laporte,  intendant  of  the  civil  list, 
sent  to  the  President  a  proclamation  which  Louis 
XVI.  had  left  behind  him,  and  which  was  read  to 
the  Assembly. 

"  Frenchmen  !  "  said  the  Sovereign,  "do  you  desire 
that  anarchy  and  the  despotism  of  the  clubs  should 
replace  the  monarchical  government  under  which  the 
nation  has  prospered  during  fourteen  hundred  years  ? 
Do  you  wish  to  see  your  King  overwhelmed  with 
outrages,  and  deprived  of  his  own  liberty  while 
endeavoring  to  establish  yours  ?  " 

In  the.  same  document,  Louis  XVI.  enumerated  all 
his  griefs  :  the  outrages  of  the  October  Days,  the 
inconveniences  of  residing  in  the  Tuileries,  the  insuf- 
ficiency of  the  civil  list,  the  disbanding  of  his  body- 
guards, the  attacks  made  on  the  rights  of  the  crown, 
the  obstacles  put  in  the  way  of  his  visit  to  Saint 
Cloud,  and  the  obligation  to  be  present,  on  Easter 
Sunday,  at  the  parochial  mass  of  an  intruded  cur^. 
"Frenchmen I  and  you,  Parisians  I"  said  the  King,  in 


146  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

conclusion,  "  inhabitants  of  a  city  which  our  ancestors 
took  pleasure  in  calling  the  good  city  of  Paris,  dis- 
trust the  suggestions  and  the  falsehoods  of  your  pre- 
tended friends.  Return  to  your  King ;  he  will  always 
be  your  father.  What  pleasure  will  it  not  give  him 
to  forget  his  personal  injuries,  and  to  return  among 
you,  when  a  constitution  which  he  shall  have  freely 
accepted  will  have  caused  our  religion  to  be  respected, 
so  that  government  may  be  established  on  a  solid 
footing !  " 

The  Assembly,  after  having  listened  to  this  docu- 
ment, passed  unmoved  to  the  order  of  the  day,  and 
continued  its  discussion  of  a  projected  penal  code. 

M.  de  Lafayette,  meanwhile,  had  gone  to  the 
Hc)tel  de  Ville,  in  order  to  concert  with  the  munic- 
ipal officers  and  the  Council  of  the  Commune  means 
of  discovering  the  route  taken  by  the  royal  family. 
Some  one  suggested  that  all  the  hack-drivers  of  Paris 
should  be  summoned.  One  of  them  had  taken  Mes- 
dames  de  Neuville  and  Brunier,  the  two  lady's-maids, 
to  Bondy.  He  had  seen  and  heard  a  good  deal,  and 
it  was  his  report,  doubtless,  which  gave  a  hint  of  the 
direction  the  fugitives  had  taken,  and  decided  Gen- 
eral Lafayette  to  despatch  two  of  his  aides-de-camp 
on  their  tracks.  The  two  officers  set  off  in  great 
haste.  The  King  was  a  long  way  in  advance,  and 
it  seemed  hardly  possible  to  overtake  him. 

Moreover,  it  was  only  the  people  who  sincerely 
desired  the  arrest  and  return  of  the  royal  family. 
Their  flight,  or  say  rather  their  deliverance,  over- 


JUNE  TWENTIETH,   1791,   IN  PABIS.  147 

whelmed  the  faithful  royalists  with  joy ;  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  Revolutionists,  whether  republi- 
cans or  Orleanists,  were  equally  pleased  by  it.  As  the 
Marquis  of  Ferrieres  has  remarked  in  his  Memoirs, 
*'the  Orleanists  were  looking  forward  to  the  King's 
departure  from  the  realm,  and  the  commotions  sure 
to  result  from  it,  in  hopes  that  the  Parisians  and  the 
constitutional  party,  furious  at  being  deceived,  would 
be  obliged  to  throw  themselves  into  the  arms  of  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  and  offer  him  the  crown."  While 
the  partisans  of  this  prince  went  about  repeating  that 
the  flight  of  Louis  XVI.  was  in  reality  an  abdication, 
a  legal  annulment  of  the  contract  between  the  nation 
and  the  monarch,  the  republicans,  who,  although  few 
in  number,  were  beginning  to  show  their  heads, 
destroyed  the  royal  escutcheon  and  monogram  on 
the  signs.  They  were  delighted  to  see  that  in  spite 
of  the  monarch's  absence,  everything  took  its  accus- 
tomed course,  —  the  artisans  going  to  their  work,  the 
cabs  rolling  through  Paris,  and,  in  the  evening,  not 
a  single  theatre  closing  its  doors.  They  said  that  by' 
the  flight  of  Louis  XVI.  France  would  gain  the  sup- 
pression of  the  civil  list,  a  saving  of  thirty  millions 
a  year. 

The  demagogues  did  all  they  could  to  excite  popu- 
lar feeling,  not  merely  against  the  King,  but  against 
Lafayette  and  Bailly,  whom  they  loudl}^  accused  of 
complicity  in  the  escape,  and  whom  they  described  as 
traitors.  Camille  Desmoulins  wrote  in  his  journal : 
"On  Tuesday,  June   21,  it  is  discovered   that   the 


148  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

King  and  all  his  family  have  taken  flight.  This 
general  scamper  of  the  male  and  female  Capets  took 
place  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  the  news 
did  not  get  about  until  nine  the  next  morning. 
Treason  !  perjury  I  Barnave  and  Lafayette  abuse 
our  confidence  ! "  Then,  to  accentuate  the  charge 
more  sharply,  he  added:  "I  was  returning  from  the 
Jacobins  with  Danton  and  other  patriots  at  eleven 
o'clock ;  we  saw  only  one  patrol  the  whole  way. 
Paris  appeared  to  me  so  deserted  that  I  could  not 
avoid  remarking  on  it.  One  of  us,  who  had  a  letter 
in  his  pocket,  warning  him  that  the  King  was  to 
depart  that  night,  wanted  to  watch  the  palace ;  he 
saw  M.  de  Lafayette  enter  it  at  eleven  o'clock," 
Finally,  in  a  paroxysm  of  anger,  Camille  Desmoulins 
exclaimed :  "  As  the  King  animal  is  an  aliquot  part 
of  the  human  species,  and  as  we  have  had  the  folly 
to  make  him  an  integral  part  of  the  body  politic,  he 
must  be  subjected  to  the  laws  of  society,  which  have 
ordained  that  any  man  who  takes  arms  against  the 
nation  shall  be  punished  with  death,  and  to  the  laws 
of  the  human  species,  the  natural  law,  which  permits 
one  to  kill  an  enemy  who  attacks  him.  Now,  the 
King  has  taken  aim  at  the  nation.  It  is  true  his  gun 
hung  fire,  but  it  is  the  nation's  turn  to  shoot." 

At  the  Cordeliers  club,  Danton  uttered  this  famous 
invective  against  Lafayette :  "  You  swore  that  the 
King  should  not  depart ;  you  made  yourself  his 
surety.  Of  two  things,  one  :  either  you  are  a  traitor 
who  has  betrayed  his  country,  or  you  are  stupid  in 


JUNE   TWENTIETH,    1701,   IN   PARIS.  149 

having  made  yourself  answerable  for  a  person  for 
whom  you  could  not  answer.  In  the  most  favorable 
case  you  have  proved  yourself  incapable  of  command- 
ing us.  I  descend  from  the  tribune ;  I  have  said 
enough  to  demonstrate  that  if  I  despise  traitors,  I 
do  not  fear  assassins." 

Meanwhile,  the  mass  of  the  people,  who  were 
neither  Orleanist  nor  republican,  seemed  profoundly 
afflicted  by  the  departure  of  the  royal  family,  and 
ardently  desirous  of  their  return.  They  said  to  each 
other  that  if  the  King  did  not  come  back,  civil  war 
would  break  out,  foreigners  would  invade  France, 
and  Paris  would  be  given  over  to  blood  and  fire. 
People  got  excited.  News  was  awaited  with  fever- 
ish impatience.  While  this  anxiety  troubled  the 
inhabitants  of  Paris,  Louis  XVI.  and  his  family  were 
quietly  pursuing  their  journey.  "  Here  I  am  then," 
said  the  fugitive  King,  "  outside  of  that  city  of  Paris 
where  I  have  tasted  so  much  bitterness  I  By  this 
time,  Lafayette  ought  to  be  a  good  deal  embarrassed 
about  his  own  safety." 


V. 


THE  JOURNEY. 


THE  six-horse  carriage  containing  the  royal  fam- 
ily went  on  all  day  without  encountering  any 
obstacles.  M.  cle  Valory  preceded  it  as  courier ; 
MM.  de  Maiden  and  de  Moustier  were  on  the  box, 
and  Mesdames  de  Neuville  and  Brunier  followed  in  a 
post-chaise.  Madame  de  Tourzel  passed  for  the  Baron- 
ess de  Korff,  and  the  Queen  for  Madame  Rochet,  gov- 
erness to  the  daughters  of  that  lady.  The  Dauphin 
and  his  sister  were  styled  Am^lie  and  Aglae,  the 
two  daughters  of  the  baroness ;  Madame  Elisabeth 
was  their  nurse ;  the  King  played  the  part  of  Mr. 
Durand,  a  steward ;  the  three  body-guards  were  men- 
servants.  M.  de  Valory  was  addressed  as  FrauQois ; 
M.  de  Maiden,  as  Saint-Jean ;  M.  de  Moustier  as  Mel- 
chior.  The  travellers  did  not  even  stop  to  eat,  having 
all  necessary  provisions  in  the  carriage.  Their  pass- 
port was  not  asked  for,  and  no  one  made  any  diffi- 
culty about  supplying  them  with  horses. 

At  the  post-station  of   Jalon,  which  Avas  the  last 
before  reaching  Chalons-sur-Marne,  the   Queen  said 
to  M.  de  Valory :   "  FrauQois,  it  seems  to  me  that 
150 


THE    JOURNEY.  151 


everything  is  going  very  well ;  we  should  be  arrested 
by  this  time  if  we  are  going  to  be ;  they  have  not  yet 
noticed  our  departure."  "  Madame,"  replied  M.  de 
Valory,  "  as  soon  as  we  were  twelve  leagues  away 
from  Paris,  all  cause  for  anxiety  was  over.  We 
should  have  been  stopped  before  we  got  so  far  if 
anything  had  been  discovered  after  the  visit  to  the 
King's  bedchamber,  or  our  departure  from  the  palace. 
There  is  no  reason  for  alarm.  I  have  seen  no  commo- 
tion or  suspicion  anywhere.  Take  courage,  Madame  ; 
all  is  going  well."  The  King,  for  his  part,  said: 
"  When  we  have  passed  Chalons,  we  shall  have  noth- 
ing more  to  fear;  at  Pont-de-Somme-Vesle  we  shall 
find  the  first  detachment  of  troops,  and  our  journey 
is  safe."  They  arrived  at  Chalons  at  about  four  in 
the  afternoon.  The  greatest  quiet  reigned  there. 
They  left  without  difficulty,  after  changing  horses. 

At  Chalons-sur-Marne  ended  the  arrangements 
which  were  undertaken  by  the  King  and  Queen. 
The  Marquis  de  Bouill^  had  made  himself  respon- 
sible for  the  remainder  of  the  journey. 

The  royal  family  were  to  make  the  following  halt- 
ing-places :  Pont-de-Somme-Yesle,  three  leagues  from 
Chalons;  Sainte  Menehould,  four  leagues  from  Pont- 
de-Somme-Vesle  ;  Clermont-en-Argonne,  four  leagues 
from  Sainte  Menehould ;  Varennes,  three  leagues 
from  Clermont-en-Argonne ;  Dun,  five  leagues  from 
Varennes ;  and,  five  leagues  from  Dun,  INIontmedy. 
It  had  been  arranged  that  at  each  of  these  stations 
there  would  be  a  detachment  of  cavalry. 


152  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

The  orders  of  the  Marquis  cle  Bouille  were  such 
that  if  the  King  wished  to  make  himself  known  to 
his  troops,  the  detachments  which  had  formed  his 
escort  would,  at  each  new  post,  fall  back  behind  his 
carriage  to  form  a  rear-guard,  giving  place  to  the 
fresh  detachments  found  there,  which  would  act  as 
vanguard.  If,  on  the  contrary,  His  Majesty  desired  to 
preserve  his  incognito,  the  detachments  which  were 
to  escort  him  should  allow  the  carriage  to  go  ahead, 
so  as  to  give  time  for  the  exchange  of  horses,  taking 
care,  however,  to  march  close  behind,  so  as  to  avert  all 
accidents.  Their  orders  were  to  follow  the  carriage 
exactly,  forming  an  impenetrable  barrier,  through 
which  no  courier  or  other  person  should  pass  on  any 
pretext  whatever,  and  to  arrive  all  together  and  at 
the  same  time  with  the  King,  at  Montmedy,  which 
had  been  provisioned  for  the  support  of  a  numerous 
army  during  several  months.^ 

It  was  at  Pont-de-Somme-Vesle  that  Louis  XVI. 
expected  to  find  the  first  detachment,  under  command 
of  the  Duke  de  Choiseul,  nephew  of  the  celebrated 
minister  of  Louis  XV.,  and  colonel  of  the  regiment 
of  Royal  Dragoons.  According  to  the  plan  of  the 
Marquis  de  Bouill^,  it  was  from  this  point  that  the 
orders  for  tlie  succeeding  stations  were  to  issue.  The 
royal  family  reached  Pont-de-Somme-Vesle  at  half- 
past  five  in  the  evening.  Cruel  surprise !  They  found 
there  neither  the  Duke  de  Choiseul  nor  the  detach- 

1  Account  of  M.  Deslon,   captain  of   the  regiment  of  Lauzun 
Hussars.     M.  Deslon  commanded  the  detachment  of  Dun. 


THE    JOURNEY.  153 


ment  of  cavalry.  "  The  eartli,"  said  Louis  XVI.  later 
on,  "  seemed  to  open  beneath  me."  What  had  hap- 
pened? 

According  to  the  plan  of  the  journey,  everything 
had  been  calculated  to  the  minute,  and  the  transit 
through  Pont-de-Somme-Vesle  had  been  fixed  for 
half-past  three  in  the  afternoon.  A  delay  of  some 
hours  occurring,  the  Duke  de  Choiseul  became 
alarmed  by  the  disturbance  his  troops  occasioned. 
The  people  said  openly  that  the  pretended  arrival  of 
a  sum  of  money  which  needed  an  escort  was  a  mere 
pretext.  M.  de  Choiseul,  abandoning  all  hope  of 
seeing  the  royal  berlin,  so  impatiently  awaited,  and, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  believing  himself  in  danger  from 
the  inhabitants  of  Pont-de-Somme-Vesle  and  its  en- 
virons, thought  it  prudent  to  withdraw  his  cavalry 
and  gain  Varennes  by  a  cross-road.  This  resolution 
of  the  Duke  de  Choiseul  has  been  severely  criticised 
by  the  Marquis  de  Bouille  and  his  son.  It  caused 
a  controversy  between  them  which  lasted  until  1822. 

The  Duke  de  Choiseul  and  his  cavalry  had  hardly 
been  gone  an  hour,  when  the  royal  family  arrived  at 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesle.  This  first  mishap  was  destined 
to  render  all  the  subsequent  measures  which  had  been 
agreed  on  abortive.  Everything  was  tranquil  at  Pont- 
de-Somme-Vesle,  however.  Louis  XVI.  became  some- 
what reassured  on  seeing  that  fresh  horses  were 
furnished  without  difficulty,  and  the  journey  began 
anew. 

They  arrived  at  Sainte  Menehould  as  safely  as  if 


154  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

they  had  been  escorted.  But  it  was  there  that  the 
difficulty  began  to  make  itself  felt.  The  detachment 
of  cavalry  sent  to  this  town  was  composed  of  forty 
dragoons,  under  Captain  Marquis  d'Andoins,  who, 
like  the  Duke  de  Choiseul,  was  in  the  secret  of  the 
journey.  The  population  of  Sainte  Menehould,  who 
were  extremely  revolutionary,  showed  themselves 
very  suspicious.  During  the  day  Captain  d'Andoins 
was  obliged  to  go  to  the  h6tel-de-ville  to  explain  the 
presence  of  the  dragoons.  In  the  hope  of  lessening 
suspicion,  he  had  decided  not  to  put  his  little  troop 
under  arms.  The  dragoons  had  dismounted  and 
were  walking  about  the  streets  in  foraging-caps, 
when  the  royal  family  arrived  at  Sainte  Menehould. 
It  was  near  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening.  They  saw 
some  National  Guards,  and  not  without  apprehension. 
It  was  the  first  time  they  had  met  any  since  leaving 
Paris.  Drums  were  beating,  and  the  town  appeared 
in  commotion. 

As  the  carriage  passed,  the  dragoons  gave  the 
military  salute,  which  the  Queen  acknowledged  in 
her  usual  graceful  and  kindly  manner.  Was  this  a 
mere  act  of  politeness  on  the  part  of  the  troops,  or 
was  it  something  more?  Had  they  begun  to  pene- 
trate the  secret?  Certainly,  no  one  had  told  them 
who  were  the  persons  they  saluted.  This  array  of 
circumstances  did  not  fail  to  increase  the  popular 
uneasiness.  The  berlin  reached  the  post-house, 
nevertheless,  without  difficulty.  The  son  of  the 
station-master  was  Drouet,  a  young  man  of  twenty- 


THE    JOURNEY.  155 


eight,  whose  r61e  was  to  be  so  fatal  to  the  King.  As 
they  were  putting  in  fresh  horses,  Captain  d'Andoins 
approached  the  carriage  for  a  moment,  and  said  in 
an  undertone:  "Affairs  have  been  mismanaged,  and 
I  am  going  away  so  as  to  avert  suspicion."  Then, 
passing  close  to  M.  de  Moustier,  he  said :  "  Go,  go 
quickly;   you  are  lost  if  you  do  not  hurry." 

At  this  moment,  Louis  XVI.  was  so  imprudent  as 
to  put  his  head  out  of  the  carriage  door.  Young 
Drouet  had  seen  him  the  previous  year  at  the  Fete 
of  the  Federation.  He  recognized  him.  To  make 
assurance  doubly  sure,  he  got  out  a  revolutionary 
bank-note,  on  which  there  was  a  sufficiently  accurate 
likeness  of  the  sovereign,  and  compared  it  for  some 
time  with  the  face  he  had  just  seen.  After  that  he 
had  no  further  doubts.  But  the  presence  of  the 
dragoons  intimidated  him.  At  first  he  said  nothing. 
The  horses  were  harnessed  and  the  carriage  started. 
At  the  same  time,  M.  d'Andoins  gave  orders  for  the 
dragoons  to  mount  and  follow  the  berlin.  It  Avas 
this  which  brought  the  alarm  to  a  head.  The  Rev- 
olutionists of  Sainte  Menehould  hastened  to  the 
tavern  where  the  dragoons  were,  plied  them  with 
wine,  offered  them  money,  and  cut  their  saddle-girths 
in  order  to  prevent  their  departure.  M.  d'Andoins 
was  arrested.  Drouet,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances 
of  his  wife,  resolved  to  pursue  the  royal  family  on 
horseback.  A  quartermaster  of  di'agoons,  named 
Lagache,  an  ardent  royalist,  perceiving  Drouet's 
scheme,   mounted   also,   to   pursue    and  watch   him. 


156  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

But  the  latter  escaped  by  plunging  into  the  forests 
and  taking  cross-roads. 

MeanAvhile  the  royal  family  were  still  hopefully 
pursuing  their  journey.  As  yet  there  was  no  cer- 
tain indication  that  they  had  been  recognized.  The 
slightly  alarming  signs  they  had  observed  were  not 
at  all  definite.  Moreover,  they  were  leaving  them 
behind,  and  no  others  occurred  along  the  route. 

Towards  half-past  nine  in  the  evening  tliey  arrived 
at  Clermont-en-Argonne.  The  detachment  aAvaiting 
them  at  this  town  comprised  one  hundred  and  forty 
dragoons,  under  command  of  Colonel  Count  Charles 
de  Damas,  who  knew  the  secret  of  the  journey.  Let 
us  allow  him  to  recount  what  happened  at  this  sta- 
tion: "I  saw  M.  de  Valory,  and  acquainted  him  with 
the  difficulty  in  which  I  was  placed  by  the  secret  dis- 
turbance in  the  town,  and  the  fear  that  my  detach- 
ment would  be  arrested  when  I  gave  orders  to  start. 
I  warned  him  not  to  lose  time  in  reaching  Varennes, 
where  he  could  get  relays,  and  go  on  to  announce 
the  coming  of  the  King.  During  the  ten  minutes  it 
took  to  put  in  fresh  horses,  I  remained  at  the  post- 
house,  surrounded  by  officers  and  dragoons,  without 
allowing  it  to  be  perceived  that  I  had  any  acquaint- 
ance with  the  travellers.  The  King  and  Queen  saw 
me,  and  made  signs  of  kindness  and  satisfaction. 
Finally,  Madame  de  Tourzel  called  me ;  she  asked 
several  questions  about  the  road  they  had  still  to 
traverse,  and  spoke  of  the  children's  fatigue.  The 
King  spoke  to  me ;  the  Queen  made  a  sign  warning 


THE    JOURNEY.  157 


him  to  disguise  his  voice.  It  is  impossible  for  me 
to  describe  the  happiness  I  felt  when  I  saw  the  car- 
riage set  off  toward  Varennes." 

Count  de  Damas  then  attempted  to  follow  tho 
royal  family  with  his  dragoons.  But  the  same  thing 
that  had  occurred  at  Sainte  Menehould  was  repro- 
duced at  Clermont-en-Argonne.  The  population  rose 
to  prevent  their  departure.  "  Your  officers  are  trai- 
toi*s,"  said  they  to  the  soldiers ;  "  they  want  to  drag 
you  to  the  slaughter ;  the  di-agoons  are  patriots. 
Long  live  the  dragoons  ! "  The  soldiers  refused  to 
follow  their  commander,  and  M.  de  Damas,  threat- 
ened by  the  crowd,  had  no  resource  but  flight.  He 
rode  off,  accompanied  by  a  few  faithful  dragoons, 
saying,  "  We  must  get  out  of  this  the  best  way  we 
can  ;  but  no  matter,  the  King  is  safe  !  " 

As  the  royal  family  had  been  already  some  time 
on  the  road  from  Clermont  to  Varennes,  it  really 
seemed  as  if  all  were  safe.  The  distance  between 
the  two  towns  is  barely  three  leagues.  The  road  is 
excellent.  M.  de  Damas  reflected  that  Varennes  was 
the  last  station  before  Montmedy;  that  Moutmedy 
was  the  desired  haven,  and  that  the  fugitives  ought 
to  reach  it  that  very  night  and  rest  from  all  their 
excitement  and  fatisfue. 

In  reasoning  thus,  M.  de  Damas  was  reckoning 
without  Drouet,  —  Drouet,  who,  with  the  ruthless 
speed  of  a  hunter,  was  in  feverish  pursuit  of  his 
prey.  On  leaving  Clermont-en-Argonne  tlie  road 
forks  ;  the  rio-ht-hand  one  is   the  hio-h-road  of  Ver- 


158  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

dun,  the  left  leads  to  Varennes.  As  the  royal  car- 
riage was  starting  from  the  Clermont  station,  the 
courier  on  the  box  called  out  to  the  postilions  to 
take  the  Varennes  road.  The  postilions  from  Sainte 
Menehould  who  had  taken  the  carriage  to  Cler- 
mont heard  this  direction  given.  On  their  return 
they  met  Drouet,  and  were  able  to  tell  him  what 
road  the  travellers  had  taken. 

Who  would  arrive  first  at  Varennes,  —  Louis  XVI., 
or  Drouet?  The  history  of  France,  the  history  of  the 
world,  was  hanging  on  that  question.  On  what  does 
the  destiny  of  humanity  depend  ?  On  the  greater  or 
less  speed  with  which  a  man  of  the  people  pursues 
a  carriage.  If  Quartermaster  Lagache  overtakes 
Drouet,  or  even  if  Drouet  does  not  reach  Varennes 
until  a  few  minutes  after  Louis  XVI.,  the  King  will 
not  be  beheaded,  there  will  be  no  republic,  no  empire. 
The  face  of  the  world  will  be  changed.  The  least 
accident,  the  least  delay,  the  most  apparently  insig- 
nificant detail,  a  broken  harness,  a  tired-out  horse,  a 
cross  postilion  who  drives  less  rapidly  than  usual,  a 
mere  nothing,  can  unsettle  all  things  here  below. 
Drouet  reaches  Varennes  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before 
the  sovereign,  and  all  is  over  with  the  monarchy  of 
Saint  Louis,  Henri  IV.,  and  Louis  XIV. 


VI. 


THE   ARREST. 


THE  travellers  arrived  at  Varennes  at  half-past 
eleven  in  the  night  of  June  21.  Certain  expla- 
nations will  be  necessary  in  order  to  follow  clearly 
the  successive  phases  of  the  drama  about  to  be 
enacted. 

Varennes,  which  is  built  on  a  declivity,  comprises 
two  distinct  quarters:  the  upper  and  the  lower 
towns,  separated  from  each  other  by  the  river  Aire, 
and  united  by  a  bridge.  At  present  there  is  a  large 
open  square  at  the  entrance  of  the  upper  town.  In 
1791  this  square  did  not  exist,  and  there  w^as  a  long 
street  leading  to  the  bridge.  Between  the  bridge  and 
a  church,  of  which  the  bell-tower  alone  remains,  w\as 
an  archway,  closed  at  will  by  a  folding  door.  Close 
to  the  bell-tower  was  a  little  tavern  known  as  the 
Bras-cC  Or. 

The  arrangements  agreed  on  for  the  King's  pas- 
sage were  as  follows :  A  detachment  of  sixty  hussars 
of  the  regiment  of  Lauzun,  under  command  of  Lieu- 
tenant Rohrig,  was  stationed  at  Varennes.  As  there 
was  no  post-station  in  the  towai,  the  royal  berlin  was 

159 


160  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

to  be  relayed  by  the  Duke  de  Choiseul's  horses  and 
postilions.  The  horses  had  been  brought  to  Varennes 
by  a  staff-officer,  M.  de  Goguelat,  who  was  to  go  from 
there  with  the  Duke  de  Choiseul  to  Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesle  to  await  the  King.  According  to  his  instruc- 
tions, M.  de  Goguelat  was  to  confer  with  Louis  XVI. 
at  Pont-de-Somme-Vesle,  and  then  start  for  Varennes 
in  the  capacity  of  courier.  As  he  had  several  fresh 
horses  at  different  places  on  the  road,  it  had  been 
calculated  that  he  would  arrive  there  about  an  hour 
in  advance  of  the  royal  family,  and  would  be  able  to 
superintend  the  final  preparations  for  the  King's 
passage  through  the  town. 

This  part  of  the  programme  was  not  carried  out. 
At  Pont-de-Somme-Vesle,  M.  de  Goguelat  had  done 
the  same  thing  as  the  Duke  de  Choiseul.  Seeing 
that  the  fugitives  were  delayed,  and  believing  him- 
self threatened  by  the  inhabitants,  he  had  quitted 
Pont-de-Somme-Vesle  before  their  arrival,  and  with- 
out informing  the  Sovereign  that  the  place  first 
designated  for  the  change  of  horses  at  Varennes  had 
been  altered. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  this  relay  should  be 
stationed  at  the  entry  of  the  upper  town,  at  a  house 
carefully  designated  beforehand  to  the  King.  But 
M.  de  Goguelat  had  thought  proper  to  change  this 
part  of  the  programme,  and  had  decided  to  place  the 
relay  on  the  bank  of  the  Aire,  in  the  lower  town,  at 
the  Q-rand-Monarque  tavern.  He  said  to  himself, 
doubtless,  that  while  relaying,  it  would  be  better  to 


THE  ARREST.  101 


have  the  bridge  behind  him,  where  a  few  hussars 
could  readily  intercept  communication  and  repulse 
any  attack,  than  to  have  before  him  a  passage  like 
the  archway,  which  could  be  easily  obstructed.  This 
modification  may  have  been  prudent.  But  still,  the 
King  should  have  been  apprised  of  it. 

For  additional  security,  the  Marquis  de  Bouill^ 
had  sent  his  second  son,  the  Chevalier  de  Bouill^, 
and  another  officer.  Count  de  Raigecourt,  to  Va- 
rennes,  for  the  purpose  of  superintending  the 
exchange  of  horses,  and  to  await  the  coming  of  the 
royal  family.  As  soon  as  these  gentlemen  were 
apprised  of  their  near  arrival  by  M.  de  Goguelat, 
they  were  to  start  for  Stenay  to  inform  the  Marquis 
de  Bouill^. 

At  the  moment  when  the  royal  family  entered 
Varennes,  M.  Rohrig,  the  second  lieutenant,  who 
commanded  the  detachment  of  sixty  hussars  of  the 
Lauzun  regiment,  had  not  assembled  his  little  band. 
Not  being  in  the  secret  of  the  journey,  he  did  not 
know  that  the  King  was  to  pass,  but  merely  supposed 
that  a  convoy  of  money  was  expected  which  he  was 
to  provide  with  an  escort. 

The  postilions  and  horses  of  the  Duke  de  Choiseul, 
which  had  been  destined  for  the  relay,  were  at  the 
G-rand-Monarque  in  the  lower  town.  The  Chevalier 
de  Bouill^  and  Count  de  Raigecourt  were  there  also : 
they  were  waiting  for  M.  de  Goguelat,  who  did  not 
come. 

Lastly,  Drouet  had  reached  Varennes  a  few  min- 


162  MARIE  ANTOIXETTE. 

utes  before,  and  had  repaired  in  all  haste  to  the  Bras 
d '  Or,  the  tavern  close  to  the  archway  and  in  front 
of  the  bridge,  to  give  the  alarm  and  organize  an 
ambuscade. 

M.  de  Valory  had  preceded  the  carriage  on  horse- 
back. Arrived  at  this  point  of  the  account  he  pub- 
lished during  the  reign  of  Louis  XVIII.,  he  thus 
expresses  his  grief :  "  Here,  readers  of  acute  sensibil- 
ities, the  unhappy  friends  of  an  august  and  beloved 
family,  ought  to  stop  if  they  do  not  wish  to  shudder 
over  each  line  that  follows.  Yes,  they  must  tremble 
with  horror  to  learn  that  a  man  could  have  cherished 
in  his  breast  the  thouo-ht  of  crime  during  the  time  it 
took  to  cross  a  dozen  leagues,  and  that,  without 
abandoning  his  infernal  design,  he  succeeded  in  seiz- 
ing and  delivering  to  their  murderers  the  best  and 
most  virtuous  of  monarchs,  the  tenderest  and  most 
illustrious  of  mothers,  her  royal  children  full  of  the 
charms  of  innocence,  and  the  most  admirable  Princess 
of  whom  France  has  ever  had  reason  to  be  proud. 
Pardon  me,"  exclaims  M.  de  Yalory,  "  the  accents  of 
my  sorrow !  M}^  hand  trembles  ;  those  fatal  images 
revive  before  my  eyes ! "  Then,  speaking  of  the 
Duchess  d'Angouleme,  he  adds  :  "  Ah !  the  sole  relic 
of  a  sacred  family,  immolated  almost  entire,  ought 
not  to  read  this  recital,  made  for  history  alone  !  May 
it  never  come  within  her  reach !  There  is  no  need 
of  telling  anything  to  this  consoling  angel  of  our 
misled  nation.  This  angel  has  seen  too  much,  heard 
too  much,  and  shed  too  many  tears ;    pray  Heaven, 


THE  ARREST.  168 


rather,  to  make  lier  lose  the  memory  of  all.  ...  But 
let  us  reanimate  cur  courage ;  let  us  continue  if  we 
can." 

On  entering  Varennes,  a  few  minutes  before  the 
royal  family,  M.  de  Valory  had  a  presentiment  that 
he  would  not  find  the  postilions  and  horses  of  the 
Duke  de  Choiseul  at  the  designated  place.  Tliis 
prevision  was  but  too  well  founded. 

Alarmed,  M.  de  Valory  looked  on  eyery  side.  He 
called ;  no  one  answered  him.  He  searched  the 
woods  near  Varennes.  He  went  down  into  the  lower 
town.  Nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  Meanwhile 
the  royal  family  began  an  equally  fruitless  search. 
Louis  XVI.  found  neither  hussars,  couriers,  postilions, 
nor  horses.  What  anxiety !  What  distress  !  To  be 
wrecked  so  near  the  hayen,  a  few  leagues  from 
Montm^dy,  that  land  of  promise,  where  the  royal 
family  had  hoped  to  rise  in  glory  from  the  tomb  of 
their  humiliations  and  disasters.  Fatality  !  What  is 
the  answer  to  this  dreadful  riddle  ?  Why  are  not 
the  sixty  hussars  of  the  Lauzun  regiment  here  at  the 
entrance  of  Varennes?  What  has  become  of  M.  de 
Goguelat?  Where  are  the  Cheyalier  de  Bouille  and 
Count  de  Raigecourt,  and  the  Duke  de  Choiseul's 
horses  and  postilions?  How  are  they  to  be  sought 
for  in  the  darkness?  Of  whom  shall  they  ask  instruc- 
tions how  to  oret  out  of  this  terrible  no-thoroucrlifare  ? 
Anguish  and  discouragement  take  hold  upon  the 
fugitives.  Louis  XVI.  himself  knocks  repeatedly 
at  the  door  of  the  house  where  the  relay  had  been 


164  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

expected.  The  Queen  also  leaves  the  carriage,  and 
wanders  up  and  down,  hoping  to  meet  some  one  who 
may  tell  her  what  to  do.  But  there  is  no  one  in  the 
streets.  The  lights  are  out.  The  citizens  are  sleep- 
ing quietly  in  their  homes. 

Meanwhile,  Drouet,  at  the  Bras  d^  Or,  is  profitably 
employing  the  time  wasted  by  the  royal  family  at 
the  entrance  of  the  upper  town.  Assisted  by  two 
or  three  revolutionists,  one  of  whom  is  Billaud,  the 
future  Conventionist,  he  barricades  the  bridge  with  a 
cart  turned  upside  down,  and  then  places  himself  in 
ambush  under  the  archway  leading  to  it.  Without 
Drouet,  all  would  be  saved.  With  Drouet,  all  will 
be  lost. 

Imagine  the  suppression  of  a  single  one  of  those 
thousand  little  causes  which  may  have  retarded  the 
progress  of  the  carriage,  and  Drouet  would  not  have 
succeeded  in  his  plan,  and  the  royal  family  would 
have  arrived  quietly  at  Montm^dy.  A  few  soldiers, 
or  even  a  few  well-inclined  civilians,  would  have 
been  sufficient  to  bring  Drouet  to  his  senses,  to  clear 
away  the  obstacle  from  the  bridge,  and  permit  the 
carriage  to  go  on  to  the  inn  of  the  Crrand-Monarque, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  where  the  Chevalier 
de  Bouille  was  awaiting  it  with  a  change  of  hoi^es. 
But  the  King  of  France  and  Navarre,  the  most  Chris- 
tian King,  the  successor  of  Charlemagne  and  Saint 
Louis,  of  Henri  IV.  and  Louis  XIV.  had  no  one  to 
assist  him,  and  it  was  before  this  wretched  obstacle, 
a  cart  upset  in  front  of  a  tavern  door,  that  a  mon- 


THE  ARREST.  165 


archy  once  formidable  and   illustrious  was  to  come 
to  naught ! 

The  royal  family,  which  had  re-entered  the  carriage 
after  making  vain  researches  in  the  upper  town, 
arrived  at  the  archway  leading  to  the  bridge,  beside 
the  Bras  d '  Or.  There  was  the  pit  into  which  they 
were  to  fall  headlong.  Muskets  already  cocked  were 
thrust  through  either  door,  and  crossed  each  other 
within  the  carriage.  "  Halt !  "  cried  several  voices 
out  of  the  darkness.  "  Show  your  passport !  Who 
are  you  ? "  Some  one  replies,  "  Madame  de  Korff 
and  her  family."  "  It  is  possible,  but  it  must  be 
proved."  The  passport  was  shown,  and  proved  all 
right.  But  the  rumor  had  got  about  that  the  carriage 
was  suspicious  and  must  be  detained.  Torches  were 
held  beneath  the  King's  face.  The  municipal  council 
assembled.  The  National  Guard  was  out.  The 
tocsin  sounded.  The  procurator  of  the  commune, 
M.  Sauce,  approaching  the  carriage,  said :  "  The 
municipal  council  is  deliberating  on  the  means  of 
permitting  the  travellers  to  proceed.  It  is  believed, 
however,  that  it  is  our  King  and  liis  family  whom 
we  have  the  happiness  to  see  in  our  town.  ...  I 
have  the  honor  to  offer  them  my  house,  where  they 
w^ill  be  in  safety  while  awaiting  the  result  of  the 
deliberations.  The  crowd  in  the  streets  is  being 
constantly  increased  by  people  summoned  from  the 
surrounding  country  by  our  tocsin,  which,  in  spite  of 
us,  has  been  ringing  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Your  Majesty  may  possibly  be  exposed  to  insults  we 


166  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


cannot  prevent,  and  which  would  overwhelm  us  with 
chagrin." 

Louis  XVI.  did  not  attempt  to  resist.  He  did  not 
yet  avow  that  he  was  the  King,  but  he  allowed  him- 
self and  his  family  to  be  led  into  the  house  of  M. 
Sauce.  The  fugitives  were  definitively  arrested. 
There  was  no  more  hope !      All  was  lost ! 


VII. 


THE   NIGHT   AT  VARENNES. 

IT  is  near  one  in  the  morning.  Behold  this  van- 
quished man,  this  prisoner,  this  sovereign  who  is 
no  longer  royal  save  in  name,  in  the  small  and 
obscure  dwelling  of  the  procurator  of  a  little  com- 
mune. See  him  obliged  to  parley  with  his  rebellious 
subjects,  to  plead  his  cause  like  an  accused  person 
before  the  court.  SorroAvf ul  night,  without  slumber ; 
full  of  miseries,  with  its  alternatives  of  hope  and  dis- 
couragement, with  its  medley  of  personages  of  diverse 
opinions,  jostling  against  each  other  in  the  shabby 
room  where  royalty  is  at  the  point  of  death !  The 
town,  astonished  at  the  unwonted  tumult  which  has 
so  rudely  troubled  its  repose  ;  ardent  revolutionists 
trembling  at  the  thought  that  their  prey  may  escape 
them ;  faithful  royalists  who  dare  not  express  their 
loyal  sentiments  above  their  breath ;  National  Guards, 
still  hesitating  between  the  monarcliical  idea  and 
republican  passions ;  the  alarm  bell,  the  pealing 
drums,  the  illuminated  houses,  the  citizens  and  com- 
mon people  who  wake  suddenly  and  can  hardly 
credit  the  unexpected  news  that  the  royal  family  has 

167 


168  31 A U IE  ANTOINETTE. 

been  arrested.  What  a  spectacle !  what  undreamed- 
of scenes  !  How  unforeseen  and  strange  are  the 
caprices  of  destiny  !  Drouet,  who  is  working  in  the 
shadow,  is  the  actor  who  plays  the  sinister  role  in 
the  drama  of  Varennes. 

Louis  XVI.  is  here  what  he  always  has  been : 
kind,  feeble,  wavering,  optimistic,  judging  others  by 
himself,  unable  to  believe  in  human  depravity,  hoping 
for  safety  in  the  midst  of  the  greatest  dangers.  A 
more  energetic  man  would  speak  plainly  and  with 
force.  Louis  XVL  hesitates,  temporizes,  thinks  he 
may  overcome  the  rebels  by  gentleness  and  good 
nature.  His  language  is  that  of  a  father,  perhaps, 
but  assuredly  not  that'  of  a  sovereign.  Moreover,  he 
is  embarrassed  by  the  presence  of  his  family.  The 
dangers  he  would  brave  willingly  were  he  alone,  he 
dreads  for  his  wife,  his  children,  and  his  sister.  What 
he  fears  above  all,  and  that  through  kindheartedness, 
is  bloodshed.  He  would  not  sacrifice  the  life  of  a 
single  soldier  to  save  himself  or  his  throne.  He  is 
unwilling  that  one  sword,  one  sabre,  should  leave  its 
scabbard.  The  illusions  natural  to  a  generous  heart 
cause  him  to  fancy  that  the  revolutionists  will  re- 
pent, and  that  his  paternal  counsels  will  bring  back 
again  a  people  gone  astray.  At  Yarennes  he  will 
continue  to  hope  up  to  the  very  minute  when  he  sets 
foot  on  the  step  of  the  berlin  which  is  to  take  him 
back  to  Paris.  So,  too,  nineteen  months  afterward, 
he  will  hope  as  he  ascends  the  guillotine,  and  believe 
that  some  friendly  battalion  is  coming  to  his  assist- 


THE  NIGHT  AT   VARENNES.  169 

ance,  just  as,  at  Varennes,  in  the  house  of  the  procu- 
rator of  the  commune,  he  expected,  up  to  the  last 
minute,  the  arrival  of  the  troops  of  the  Marquis  de 
Bouille.  "  Perhaps,"  he  was  continually  saying  to 
himself,  "  I  am  about  to  hear  the  trumpets  of  the 
faithful  regiment,  the  Royal-Allemand."  The  unfor- 
tunate monarch  clings  to  the  house  of  M.  Sauce  like 
a  shipwrecked  sailor  to  a  rock.  What  he  dreads  is  to 
be  obliged  to  return  to  Paris,  that  city  of  afflictions 
and  supreme  humiliations.  Any  other  destination 
would  still  leave  room  for  hope,  but  Paris  means 
despair.  Therefore  when  he  hears  that  fatal  name, 
it  seems  to  him  that  the  abyss  yawns  beneath  his 
feet. 

He  has  not  yet  admitted  that  he  is  the  King.  The 
people  say  and  repeat  that  they  recognize  perfectly 
both  himself  and  his  family.  "  Very  well,"  cries  the 
Queen ;  "  if  you  recognize  him  as  your  King,  respect 
him ! "  This  speech  leaves  Louis  XVI.  at  liberty. 
He  throws  off  his  mask.  He  explains  his  pro- 
gramme and  the  object  of  his  journey.  For  a  mo- 
ment his  fatherly  accent  imposes  silence  on  the 
throng  which  overcrowds  the  room.  In  touching 
words  he  insists  on  his  ardent  desire  to  know  the 
real  wishes  of  his  people,  and  on  his  firm  resolution 
to  do  everything  for  their  welfare,  no  matter  at  what 
sacrifice,  whether  of  his  inherited  rights,  his  royal 
authority,  or  his  private  interests.  He  ends  b}^  pro- 
posing to  put  himself  in  the  hands  of  the  members  of 
the  National  Guard  stationed  at  Varennes,  to  be  con- 


170  MAEIE  ANTOINETTE. 

ducted  by  tliem  to  Montmedy,  or  any  other  town 
they  choose,  providing  that  it  be  not  Paris.  He 
hopes  he  has  convinced  his  audience,  and  imagines 
that  the  National  Guard  will  receive  orders  from 
him.  He  says  :  "  I  thank  the  commune  of  Varennes 
for  its  good  intentions,  and  I  accept  the  escort  it 
offers  me.  It  is  my  Avill  that  horses  should  be  put 
to  my  carriages,  so  that  I  may  take  my  departure." 

Meanwhile  the  commotion  was  increasing.  People 
poured  into  the  two  small  rooms  which  formed  the 
first  story  of  M.  Sauce's  house,  where  the  royal 
family  still  remained.  The  alarm  bells  of  neighbor- 
ing communes  were  answering  the  tocsin  of  the 
town.  Their  National  Guards  also  hastened  to  lend 
a  hand  to  those  of  Varennes,  where  the  whole  popu- 
lation was  afoot. 

It  was  this  tumult  which  informed  the  Chevalier 
de  Bouille  and  Count  Raigecourt  of  the  presence  of 
the  royal  family.  They  tried  to  rejoin  them  with 
the  horses  and  postilions  of  the  Duke  de  Choiseul, 
intended  for  the  relay.  Their  efforts  were  vain. 
The  bridge  was  barricaded,  and  the  peojDle  menacing. 
The  two  officers  were  very  nearly  arrested.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  They  got  on  their  horses  and  gal- 
loped off  at  full  speed  to  tell  what  had  happened  to 
the  Marquis  de  Bouill^,  who  was  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Stenay. 

Lieutenant  Rohrig  had  the  same  idea.  This  young 
officer,  who  commanded  the  detachment  of  sixty 
hussars  stationed  at  Varennes,  had  not  been  admitted 


THE  NIGHT  AT   VARENNES.  171 

into  the  secret  of  the  journey.  He  believed,  simply, 
that  he  was  there  to  escort  a  convoy  of  money.  He 
had  not  seen  M.  de  Goguelat,  who  Avould  have  ap- 
prised him  of  the  truth.  Hence,  when  the  rumor  of 
the  arrival  of  the  royal  family  reached  him,  his  sur- 
prise was  extreme.  He  thought  he  was  doing  his 
duty  in  leaving  his  hussars  in  command  of  a  quarter- 
master, and  going  himself  at  full  speed  to  Stenay, 
to  warn  his  general. 

It  will  be  remembered  that,  at  Pont-de-Somme- 
Vesle,  the  Duke  de  Choiseul  and  M.  de  Goguelat,  at 
the  head  of  forty  hussars,  started  for  Varennes  with- 
out awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  royal  family,  and  their 
passage  through  that  place.  It  will  also  be  remem- 
bered that,  at  Clermont-en-Argonne,  Count  Charles 
de  Damas,  menaced  by  the  population,  had  been 
obliged  to  escape,  almost  alone,  and  had  also  turned 
toward  Varennes.  The  Duke  de  Choiseul  and  M.  de 
Goguelat,  with  their  forty  hussars,  and  Count  Charles 
de  Damas  with  a  much  smaller  escort,  reached  Va- 
rennes about  an  hour  after  Louis  XVI.  and  his 
family.  Instead  of  charging  on  the  populace,  the 
Duke  de  Choiseul  parleyed  with  them,  and  entered 
the  town  by  a  sort  of  capitulation.  He  caused  his 
hussars  to  dismount,  and  obtained  an  authorization 
to  present  himself  before  Louis  XVI.  The  same  per- 
mission was  granted  to  M.  de  Goguelat  and  Count 
de  Damas.  The  latter  has  said :  "  We  went  up  stairs, 
into  the  room  occupied  by  the  royal  famil}^  The 
King,  the  Queen,  and  Madame  Elisabeth  received  us 


172  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


with  expressions  of  the  most  touching  goodness. 
My  first  care  was  to  say  that  we  must  get  them  away 
at  once,  and  by  force,  if  necessar}^  The  King  an- 
swered me :  '  They  want  me  to  wait  until  daylight, 
and  to  give  me  an  escort.  They  proposed  to  send 
one  hundred  men,  but  I  have  agreed  that  there  shall 
be  only  fifty.'  We  represented  to  him  that  the 
concourse  of  people  at  Varennes,  which  was  small  as 
yet,  would  soon  be  augmented  b}^  the  entire  popula- 
tion of  the  neighborhood,  summoned  by  the  tocsin 
which  was  sounding  in  all  directions.  We  saw  they 
had  decided  to  wait.  I  do  not  know  w^hether  the 
forty  hussars  brought  by  M.  de  Choiseul,  if  reunited 
with  the  sixty  already  in  the  town,  could,  at  this 
hour,  have  dispersed  the  small  assemblage ;  I  do  not 
even  know  whether  the  forty,  entering  at  a  gallop, 
might  not  have  made  the  people  fly,  and  if  a  few 
charges  in  the  streets  would  not  have  made  them 
masters  of  the  town  ;  but  other  troops  were  expected, 
which,  meanwhile,  were  far  enough  away."  An  hour 
later,  the  hussars  had  joined  the  citizens,  were  nearly 
all  drunk,  and  had  taken  an  officer  of  the  National 
Guard  as  their  commander. 

According  to  Count  Louis  de  Bouille,  it  would 
have  been  better  to  risk  everything  than  to  remain 
shut  wp  in  a  house,  waiting  for  the  population  of 
Varennes  to  be  increased  by  that  of  the  whole  sur- 
rounding country,  summoned  by  the  tocsin.  But 
anything  that  bore  a  resemblance  to  an  energetic 
decision  was  contrary  to  the  character  of  the  King. 


THE  NIGHT  AT   VAllENNES.  173 

The  advice  of  Count  de  Damas  was  not  well  received, 
and  the  unha^^py  colonel,  driven  to  despair  by  this 
inaction,  could  only  bow  in  respectful  acquiescence. 

Louis  XVI.,  always  credulous,  displayed  entire 
confidence  in  the  fallacious  promises  of  the  munic- 
ipality. His  demeanor  Avas  firm  and  tranquil.  He 
received  with  condescension  the  importunate  persons 
who  constantly  entered  the  room  and  questioned  him 
in  a  manner  not  at  all  in  harmony  with  the  laws  of 
etiquette.  The  Queen  and  Madame  Elisabeth  spoke 
often,  and  with  real  dignity.  The  Dauphin  was 
sleeping  profoundly  on  the  bed.  His  sister  stood 
near  Madame  de  Tourzel. 

Day  began  to  break.  The  tumult  increased  every 
minute,  and  the  situation  became  more  and  more 
critical.  Toward  six  o'clock  there  came  a  new 
glimmer  of  hope.  M.  Deslon  made  his  appearance  at 
Varennes  with  sixty  hussars,  coming  from  Dun,  the 
station  between  Varennes  and  Montmedy.  He  was 
waiting  for  the  King,  with  his  detachment,  when  he 
learned  from  the  Chevalier  de  Bouilld  and  the  Count 
de  Raigecourt,  as  they  passed  through  Dun,  that  the 
royal  family  had  been  arrested.  Not  stopping  for 
orders,  and  listening  only  to  his  zeal,  he  started  at 
four  in  the  morning,  and  reached  Varennes  a  little 
before  six,  having  covered  more  than  five  full  leagues 
in  less  than  two  hours.  His  plan  was  to  attack  at 
once,  and  force  his  way  to  the  house  where  the  King 
was  a  prisoner.  He  had  already  prepared  his  detach- 
ment by  exhortations  and  promises,  when,  at  twenty 


\ 


174  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

paces  from  the  town,  he  saw  that  barricades  had 
been  raised  which  barred  the  passage  of  cavalry. 
He  obtained  for  himself  alone  permission  to  enter 
M.  Sauce's  house,  and  he  presented  himself  before 
Louis  XVI.  He  told  him  that  his  sixty  hussars  were 
at  the  entrance  of  Varennes,  and  ready  to  shed  the 
last  drop  of  their  blood  for  their  Sovereign ;  that 
the  barricades  prevented  them  for  the  moment  from 
being  useful,  but  that  the  Marquis  de  Bouille  was 
momently  expected,  and  that  their  united  forces 
would  not  fail  to  deliver  the  august  captives. 

Captain  Deslon  spoke  with  the  Queen  afterwards 
in  German,  and  then  took  leave  of  the  King,  boldly 
asking  for  his  commands  in  the  presence  of  the  crowd 
which  thronged  the  room.  Louis  XVI.  replied  that, 
being  a  prisoner,  he  had  no  commands  to  give.  Colo- 
nel de  Damas  said  to  the  captain  in  German  in  as 
low  a  tone  as  he  could,  "  To  horse,  and  charge ! " 
Somebody  cried  out,  ''  No  German  ! "  and  Captain 
Deslon  went  out.  Then  he  sent  a  brigadier  to  look 
for  the  quartermaster  who,  since  Second  Lieutenant 
Rohrig's  departure,  had  commanded  the  sixty  hussars 
of  the  Varennes  detachment.  But  the  brigadier 
returned  alone  to  say  that  the  sixty  hussars  w^ere 
blockaded  in  their  barracks  and  could  do  nothing. 
The  double  attack  planned  by  M.  Deslon,  counting 
on  an  accord  between  the  two  detachments,  could 
not  be  accomplished.  He  remained  inactive,  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  Marquis  de  Bouille. 

Even  after  this  cruel  night  the  royal  family  would 


THE  NIGHT  AT   VARENNES.  175 

not  yet  despair.  They  lent  anxious  ears  to  all  noises 
from  outside,  thinking  constantly  that  they  might 
hear  the  tread  of  the  Royal-Allemand.  But  this  fatal 
journey  was  nothing  but  a  succession  of  misunder- 
standings, false  chances,  mishaps,  and  delays.  If  he 
had  been  warned  two  hours  sooner,  the  Marquis  de 
Bouille  could  have  saved  everything.  He  will  reach 
Varennes  with  his  faithful  regiment,  but  an  hour  and 
a  half  too  late.  The  two  emissaries  of  Lafayette 
will  arrive  there  before  him,  bearing  the  decree  of 
the  National  Assembly,  and  the  royal  family  will  be 
forced  to  resume  the  road  to  Paris. 


VIII. 

THE  DEPARTURE  FROM  VARENNES. 

BETWEEN  six  and  seven  in  the  morning,  M.  de 
Romeuf,  Lafayette's  aide-de-camp,  and  M.  Bail- 
Ion,  an  officer  of  tlie  National  Guard,  arrived  from 
Paris  at  Varennes.  They  brought  the  decree  by 
which  the  National  Assembly  ordained  the  arrest  of 
the  royal  family  wherever  they  might  be  found,  and 
their  return,  willing  or  unwilling,  to  Paris.  At  the 
moment  of  their  arrival,  Louis  XVI.  was  far  from 
having  lost  all  hope.  The  populace  appeared  more 
and  more  disturbed.  Cries  of  "  To  Paris  !  to  Paris  ! " 
resounded  on  every  side.  But  the  berlin  had  not 
been  brought  up.  The  King  thought  he  might  yet 
gain  time,  and  flattered  himself  with  the  hope  that 
his  saviour,  the  Marquis  de  Bouill^,  was  about  to 
come.  The  crowd,  in  spite  of  their  revolutionary 
passion,  hesitated  to  use  violence  to  their  king.  It 
was  the  presence  of  the  two  Parisian  emissaries  which 
overcame  their  last  scruples. 

With  hair  and  vestments  in  disorder,  M.  Baillon 
came  first  into  the  room  where  the  royal  family  were 
confined,  and  in  a  panting  and  broken   voice   said: 
170 


THE  BEPARTUUE  FROM   VARENNES.         177 

"  Sire,  you  know  .  .  .  all  Paris  will  be  cutting  each 
other's  throats,  .  .  .  our  wives  and  children  are  per- 
haps massacred,  .  .  .  you  will  not  go  any  further.  .  .  . 
Sire,  the  interests  of  State  .  .  .  yes.  Sire,  our  wives, 
our  children.  ..."  At  these  words,  the  Queen, 
showing  him  the  Dauphin,  asleep  on  M.  Sauce's  bed, 
exclaimed,  "  And  am  I  not  a  mother  also  ?  "  "  In  a 
word,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  said  Louis  XVI.  "  Sire, 
a  decree  of  the  Assembly."  "Where  is  it?"  "My 
comrade  has  it."  Then  M.  de  Romeuf  came  for- 
ward, holding  the  paper  in  his  hand.  Having  read 
it  hastily,  Louis  XVI.  said  mournfully,  "  There  is 
no  longer  a  King  in  France."  Then  the  Queen 
began  to  speak.  She  asked  M.  de  Romeuf  how  he 
could  have  undertaken  such  a  commission,  and  attrib- 
uted all  her  misfortunes  to  M.  de  Lafayette.  M.  de 
Romeuf  said  that  M.  de  Lafayette  was  far  from  being 
'the  enemy  of  the  King  and  his  family.  "  He  is  so," 
replied  the  Queen.  "  His  head  is  full  of  his  United 
States,  his  American  republic ;  he  will  see  what  a 
French  republic  amounts  to.  .  .  .  Well,  sir,  show 
it  to  me,  this  decree  of  which  you  are  the  bearer." 
M.  de  Romeuf  handed  the  decree  to  the  Queen. 
"  Insolent  creatures  !  "  said  she,  throwing  it  down 
before  reading  it  all  through.  The  paper  fell  on  the 
bed  wdiere  the  Dauphin  and  his  sister  lay  asleep. 
The  Queen  picked  it  up  again  quickly,  exclaiming, 
as  she  threw  it  on  the  floor,  "  It  would  soil  my  chil- 
dren's bed ! " 

M.  de  Romeufs  attitude  did  not  make  the  same 


178  MAlilE  ANTOINETTE. 

impression  on  M.  de  Valory  as  on  M.  de  Damas. 
According  to  the  account  of  M.  de  Valoiy,  the 
severity  and  arrogance  with  which  the  two  emis- 
saries fulfilled  their  mission  can  hardly  be  conceived. 
According  to  that  of  M.  de  Damas,  on  the  contrary, 
M.  de  Romeuf  seemed  dismayed;  his  conduct  and 
his  language  gave  room  for  the  belief  that  he  was 
urged  on  by  his  companion,  that  he  fulfilled  his  mis- 
sion with  reluctance,  and  that  he  would  have  been 
pleased  if  the  royal  family  could  have  escaped. 

Meanwhile,  M.  Baillon  was  in  haste  to  depart. 
The  people,  feeling  themselves  supported  by  the  de- 
cree of  the  National  Assembly,  stamped  and  shouted. 
The  two  carriages  were  got  in  readiness,  and  threats 
were  made  that  the  fugitives  would  be  put  into  them 
by  force  if  they  would  not  enter  voluntarily.  The 
King's  friends  did  everything  in  their  power  to  delay 
the  fatal  moment.  One  of  the  two  lady's-maids  fall- 
ing ill,  the  necessary  attentions  were  prolonged  as 
much  as  possible.  But  the  woman  regained  con- 
sciousness, and  there  remained  no  other  pretext  for 
resisting.  Louis  XVI.,  fearing,  not  for  himself,  but 
for  his  family,  and  believing  that  if  he  did  not  yield, 
the  populace  would  have  recourse  to  acts  of  violence, 
soon  decided  to  go.  ''  The  carriages,"  M.  de  Valory 
has  said,  "  were  brought  before  the  door  of  the  house. 
Some  one  came  to  announce  that  the  illustrious 
victims  could  enter  them.  We  had  to  see  a  father 
made  to  be  adored,  a  King  full  of  love  for  his  people, 
forced  to  obey  his  subjects ;  and,  my  God,  what  sub- 


THE  DEPARTURE  FROM   VARENNE8.         179 

jects  !  "  The  Duke  de  Clioiseul  and  Count  de  Damas 
wished  to  accompany  the  King  and  his  family  on 
horseback.  But  they  were  arrested  and  imprisoned 
in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  M.  de  Romeuf.  M.  de 
Romeuf  himself  was  arrested  as  suspicious,  and  was 
not  released  until  the  next  day.  "  The  grief  which 
he  expressed  to  us,"  says  Count  de  Damas  in  his 
account,  "  the  care  he  took  to  exculpate  himself  from 
this  abominable  mission,  led  us  to  Avonder  why  he  did 
not  destroy  the  decree  he  carried,  and  aid  us  in  delay- 
ing the  departure  of  the  King.  I  think  he  would 
have  done  so  had  he  been  alone." 

It  was  eig-ht  o'clock  in  the  morningf  when  the 
royal  family  left  Varennes.  An  hour  and  a  half 
later,  the  Marquis  de  Bouille  with  the  Royal-Alle- 
mand  appeared  on  the  heights  which  overlook  the 
town. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  night  the  general  had 
waited  for  tidings  with  feverish  anxiety.  He  and 
his  son,  Count  Louis  de  Bouille,  had  mounted  their 
horses  at  Stenay,  toward  nine  in  the  evening,  and 
ridden  towards  Dun,  so  as  to  receive  news  from  the 
King  more  promptly.  At  a  quarter  of  a  league  from 
this  town,  where,  their  entry  might  have  been  too 
much  remarked,  they  went  down  into  a  dry  ditch 
at  the  side  of  the  road,  leaving  their  horses  behind. 
Count  Louis  de  Bouilld,  in  a  curious  memoir,  has  thus 
described  their  impressions :  "  I  shall  always  have  be- 
fore my  mind  that  night  of  long  and  anxious  waiting, 
when  the  least  noise,  the  least  movement,  according 


180  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

as  it  came  or  went,  penetrated  our  souls  with  the 
most  vivid  impressions  of  hope  or  despair.  The  latter 
sentiment  took  almost  entire  possession  of  us  when 
day  began  to  break  without  our  having  seen  any  one 
arrive  or  received  any  news.  M.  de  Bouille,  not 
able  to  explain  the  cause,  but  well  persuaded  that 
some  change  in  his  plans  must  have  occurred,  re- 
turned to  Stenay,  so  as  to  be  better  able  to  give  the 
orders  necessitated  by  circumstances.  We  were  a 
quarter  of  a  league  from  that  town  when  we  per- 
ceived some  couriers  coming  towards  us  at  full 
speed.  Our  hearts  beat  with  joy,  for  we  supposed 
they  were  bringing  us  tidings  of  the  speedy  arrival 
of  the  King.  But  what  was  our  surprise  and  grief 
when  we  recognized  the  Chevalier  de  Bouille,  Count 
de  Raigecourt,  and,  which  was  most  astonishing  of 
all,  the  officer  in  command  of  the  detachment  of 
Varennes,  who  announced  to  us  that  the  King  had 
been  arrested  there  at  half-past  eleven  the  night 
before,  adding  nothing  else  but  some  very  vague 
details.  It  was  then  about  half-past  four  in  the 
morning." 

The  Marquis  de  Bouille  could  get  no  clear  idea 
of  what  had  happened.  Making  a  final  effort,  he 
ordered  the  Royal- Allemand  to  horse  at  Stenay,  and 
led  them  to  Varennes,  hoping  that  the  King  might 
even  yet  be  delivered.  He  distributed  four  hundred 
louis  among  his  cavaliers,  and  explained  their  mis- 
sion in  a  brief  harangue,  which  was  received  with 
shouts  of    ''  Long    live  the    King ! "      The   regiment 


THE  DEPARTURE  FROM   VARENNES.         181 


started  at  full  trot.  All  along  the  road  they  heard 
alarm  bells  ringing  and  drums  beating  from  every 
direction.  It  was  half-past  nine  in  the  morning  when 
they  arrived  before  Varennes.  The  royal  family  had 
departed  an  hour  earlier.  The  officers  said  it  was 
indispensable  to  refresh  the  horses,  jaded  by  a  march 
of  nine  leagues  at  full  trot.  This  observation,  which 
was  but  too  well  founded,  the  long  start  which  the 
carriages  had  already,  the  fear  of  once  more  endanger- 
ing the  lives  of  the  ro3^al  family  while  seeking  vainly 
to  bring  them  aid,  the  menacing  dispositions  of  the 
National  Guards  and  the  people,  the  thought  that 
four  hundred  cavalry,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  could 
not  but  perish  in  the  midst  of  a  revolutionary  mul- 
titude increasing  every  minute,  —  all  this  determined 
tlie  general  to  give  the  order  for  a  retreat.  "  I  see 
yet,"  says  his  son.  Count  Louis  de  Bouille,  "  the 
expression  of  grief  which  altered  his  whole  coun- 
tenance. Never  shall  I  forget  that  gentle,  heart- 
breaking complaint  which  he  addressed  to  me  in 
sorrowful  accents  some  moments  later,  and  which 
alluded  to  the  confidence  I  had  expressed  concerning 
the  success  of  this  enterprise,  and  based  on  the  good 
fortune  which  had  attended  all  the  others :  '  Well ! 
will  you  say  again  that  I  am  lucky?'"  At  Stenay 
the  Marquis  de  Bouill^  barely  escaped  arrest.  He 
was  forced  to  abandon  his  regiment,  and  take  shelter, 
with  his  son,  across  the  frontier.  The  latter  says : 
"  We  arrived  at  nightfall  at  the  Abbaye  d'Orval,  in 
the  Emperor's  dominions.     AVe  found  the  monks  at 


182  MAItlE  ANTOINETTE. 

table,  astonished  by  our  arrival,  and  full  of  conster- 
nation on  learning  its  cause ;  and  at  eleven  o'clock 
we  terminated  that  too  cruel  and  too  memorable 
day." 

During  this  time  the  royal  family  were  painfully 
continuing  their  journey,  stopping  at  every  town.  The 
fatal  Varennes  journey  had  such  results  that  all  the 
incidents  of  it  have  occasioned  long  and  bitter  con- 
troversies. Each  actor  in  it  has  sought  to  explain  its 
weak  places  or  its  errors ;  each  has  sought  to  shift 
upon  some  one  else  the  responsibility  of  failure ;  each 
has  said :  "  If  such  or  such  a  fault  had  not  been  com- 
mitted, the  august  martyrs  would  have  been  saved." 
Even  yet  these  discussions  interest  and  excite.  The 
vicissitudes  6f  the  journey  are  followed  with  as  much 
anxiety  as  if  they  had  occurred  but  yesterday.  The 
inventions  of  romance-writers  are  not  more  interest- 
ing than  the  reality ;  and  of  all  dramas,  the  most 
singular,  the  most  interesting,  is  history.  It  is  not 
the  principal  actors  alone,  but  the  secondary  ones, 
and  even  the  supernumeraries,  who  attract  attention. 
All  come  to  life  again,  all  revive,  —  the  characters  and 
the  scene.  The  night  of  Varennes  is  legendary. 
Sinister  gleams  throw  it  up  into  a  strange  relief. 
The  archway,  the  bridge,  the  Bras  d^ Or  inn,  the 
house  of  M.  Sauce,  all  stand  out  plain  before  one's 
eyes,  and  the  imagination  rests  long  upon  them. 


IX. 


THE  RETURN. 


THE  royal  family  had  passed  nine  hours  at 
Varennes,  and  this  sojourn  sufficed  to  trans- 
form an  almost  unknown  locality  into  a  historic  and 
forever  celebrated  town.  At  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning  of  June  21,  1791,  the  berlin  which  had 
brought  the  august  fugitives,  took  them  back  again 
to  Paris.  The  three  body-guards  were  on  the  coach- 
man's box.  The  two  lady's-maids  followed  in  another 
carriage.  People  armed  with  scythes  and  muskets, 
pikes,  pitchforks,  and  sabres,  surrounded  the  two 
carriages  and  formed  a  sinister  escort.  At  first  start- 
ing, the  horses  had  been  driven  at  great  speed,  so  as 
to  put  as  great  a  distance  as  possible  between  the 
royal  family  and  the  royalist  troops  whose  arrival 
was  feared ;  but  afterwards  they  were  allowed  to 
walk  between  the  constantl}^  increasing  throngs — a 
revolutionary  population.  They  were  four  hours  in 
going  from  Varennes  to  Clermont-en-Argonne.  It 
was  three  in  the  afternoon  when  they  reached  Sainte 
Menehould.  This  town  was  greatly  indebted  to 
Louis  XVI.,  who  had  built  it  up  from  its  ruins  after 
a   terrible   fire.     The    inhabitants    seemed  hardly  to 

183 


184  M^iRlE  ANTOINETTE. 

remember  this  benefit.  One  might  have  thought 
Drouet  had  imparted  to  them  all  his  demagogic 
passion.  Threats,  insults,  and  furious  cries  greeted 
the  royal  berlin,  and  the  three  body-guards  barely 
escaped  assassination. 

Not  far  from  Sainte  Menehould,  opposite  the  vil- 
lage of  Han,  and  near  the  mountain  of  the  Moon, 
made  famous  a  year  later  by  the  encampment  of  the 
King  of  Prussia  and  the  battle  of  Valmy,  a  venerable 
old  man,  wearing  the  cross  of  Saint  Louis  on  his 
breast,  came  up  on  horseback.  It  was  the  Marquis 
de  Dampierre.  This  old  officer,  a  courtier  of  misfor- 
tune, came  to  offer  homage  to  his  King.  The  crowd 
was  not  at  all  pleased  wdth  his  loyal  sentiments,  his 
respectful  attitude,  his  soldierly  and  noble  bearing, 
his  white  hair.  When  the  old  man  appeared,  the 
image  of  duty  and  fidelity,  shouts  of  "traitor,"  "aris- 
tocrat," flew  from  mouth  to  mouth  in  the  revolu- 
tionary escort.  "  Kill  him  !  cut  his  throat !  "  cried 
the  populace.  Some  sprang  at  the  horse's  bridle ; 
others  sought  to  dismount  the  rider.  He  spurred  up 
his  horse,  hoping  to  make  his  way  through  the  crowd. 
Two  pistol  shots  were  fired  at  him  and  missed.  He 
returned  them  with  another.  Then  he  was  chased 
like  a  stag  at  a  hunting-match.  Muskets  were  dis- 
charged at  him  repeatedly,  and  the  old  nobleman  fell 
dead.  His  head  was  cut  off  and  stuck  on  a  pike ;  and 
the  bloody  trophy  was  thrust  before  the  eyes  of  the 
royal  family.  The  horrors  of  the  October  Days  had 
beo^un  anew. 


THE  RETURN.  185 


In  the  evening,  they  arrived  at  Chalons-sur-Marne, 
where  they  passed  the  night  of  June  22-23.  This 
journey,  so  full  of  incidents,  disturbed  by  so  many 
emotions  and  so  much  anguish,  must  have  resembled 
a  bad  dream.  The  revolutionists  who  escorted  the 
carriage  with  cries  of  fury  were  like  menacing  phan- 
toms. The  extreme  heat,  the  overpowering  fatigue, 
the  moral  sufferings,  still  greater  than  the  physical 
ones,  made  this  fatal  road  a  way  of  humiliations  and 
afflictions.  That  heartrending  anguish  which  Danto 
places  in  the  midst  of  his  torments  —  a  happy  memory 
recurring  in  days  of  wretchedness  —  came  from  time 
to  time  to  deepen  Marie  Antoinette's  emotions.  At 
Chalons-sur-Marne,  the  royal  family  alighted  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  old  hotel  de  ITntendance,  where 
they  remained  all  night.  The  Queen  could  not 
behold  unmoved  this  edifice  where  she  had  been 
received  at  the  time  of  her  arrival  in  France  twenty- 
one  years  before,  in  IMay,  1770. 

Then,  what  benedictions,  what  transports,  what 
idolatry !  With  what  enthusiasm  the  charming 
Dauphiness,  the  ideal  maiden,  the  morning  star,  had 
been  received  !  Who  would  then  have  thouo^ht  that 
a  people  so  devoted  to  their  royal  family  would  ever 
become  a  tribe  of  regicides  and  executioners?  In 
a  single  destiny  there  are  often  such  vicissitudes 
and  contrasts,  that  those  who  fall  from  the  height 
of  prosperity  and  grandeur  into  the  profound  abysses 
of  calamity,  lose,  as  it  were,  the  consciousness  of  their 
identity.     Unhappy,  and  questioning  the  past  as  well 


186  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

as  the  present,  they  say,  "  Could  I  have  been  so 
happy,  so  brilliant,  and  so  flattered?"  And  thus 
Marie  Antoinette  might  have  asked  herself  in  the 
midst  of  so  many  cruel  reverses :  "  Am  I  truly  the 
daughter  of  the  German  Caesars,  the  Queen  of  France 
and  Navarre  ?  Could  I  once  have  shone  so  brilliant, 
who  am  now  plunged  in  darkness  so  profound?" 

Chalons-sur-Marne  was  a  sort  of  oasis  in  the  middle 
of  a  burning  desert.  "  Ah  !  let  us  breathe  awhile,"  says 
the  Count  de  Valory  in  his  narration.  "At  Chalons- 
sur-Marne  a  few  moments  of  consolation  came  to 
assuage  our  griefs.  But,  before  attempting  to  de- 
scribe this  soothing  contrast,  let  us  pay  to  a  consider- 
able portion  of  the  French  people  the  just  tribute 
which  is  their  due.  Yes,  alongside  of  frightfully 
barbarous  scenes,  we  often  beheld  expressive  tokens 
of  the  grief  they  occasioned  to  a  great  number  of  vir- 
tuous citizens.  In  spite  of  every  danger,  marks  of 
love  and  profound  interest  escaped  them.  One  could 
see  it ;  their  hearts  were  broken,  but  crime  alone 
dared  venture ;  crime  alone  was  powerful." 

The  majority  of  the  Chalonnaise  population  were 
royalists.  They  received  the  unfortunate  monarch 
more  like  an  impatiently  expected  father  than  as  a 
king  made  captive  by  his  subjects.  It  was  who 
should  solicit  the  honor  of  being  presented  to  the 
august  family.  Ladies  and  young  girls  came  to 
offer  bouquets  to  the  Queen,  Madame  Elisabeth,  and 
Madame  Roy  ale.  Some  proposed  that  the  King 
should  save  himself  alone.     A  private  staircase  lead- 


THE  RETUBN.  187 


ing  from  the  room  wliei'e  the  Dauphin  slept  was 
shown  him.  But  he  refused  to  quit  liis  family,  and 
would  not  accept  the  means  of  escape  which  were 
offered  him. 

The  royalists  of  the  city  likewise  debated  whether 
they  should  attempt  to  take  Louis  XVI.  back  to  Mont- 
m^dy,  or  to  defend  him  at  Chalons.  His  supper  was 
served  with  a  certain  pomp  in  a  large  hall  containing 
many  persons,  all  of  whom  passed  around  the  table 
without  creating  the  slightest  confusion.  The  emo- 
tion was  general.  People  kissed  the  King's  hands 
respectfully,  and  multiplied  their  signs  of  homage 
toward  the  Queen  and  the  Princesses.  The  royal 
family  were  up  nearly  all  night.  When  they  took  a 
brief  repose,  the  Revolution,  which  did  not  sleep, 
was  preparing  to  frustrate  the  monarchical  intentions 
of  the  people  of  Chalons.  The  National  Guard  of 
Rheims,  lead  by  zealous  democrats,  reached  Chalons- 
sur-Marne  in  the  morning. 

It  was  Thursday,  June  23,  the  feast  of  Corpus 
Christi.  The  King  had  had  an  altar  arranged,  and 
was  assisting  at  Mass,  which  was  at  the  Sanctus^ 
when  it  was  brusquely  interrupted  by  the  appearance 
of  armed  men,  who  summoned  the  royal  family  to 
renew  their  journey.  "  To  Paris  I  to  Paris  !  "  cried 
voices  in  the  courtyard.  Guns  were  pointed  at  the 
windows,  and  it  Avas  demanded  that  Louis  XVI. 
should  show  himself  there.  He  appeared,  calm  and 
impassible  as  ever.  "  Since  I  am  compelled,"  said  he, 
"  I  will  go  to  Paris."     Xearly  the  whole  population 


188  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

of  Champagne  had  marched  all  night  to  assemble  at 
Chalons,  and  the  break  of  day  was,  as  it  were,  their 
hour  of  rendezvous.  "  What  could  the  good  Cha- 
lonnaises  do  now?"  sadly  exclaims  M.  de  Valory. 
"  Their  will  was  enthralled ;  nothing  remained  to 
them  but  sighs !  "  The  royal  family  got  into  their 
carriage  and  went  on  their  way,  escorted  by  National 
Guards  and  revolutionary  bands. 

At  Epernay  they  made  a  brief  stop  for  dinner. 
When,  according  to  custom,  the  mayor  presented  the 
King  with  the  keys  of  the  town,  the  president  of  the 
district  addressed  a  sharp  remonstrance  to  the  un- 
happy Prince,  ending  with  these  words :  "  You  ought 
to  be  thankful  to  the  town  for  presenting  its  keys  to 
a  runaway  king."  They  could  hardly  eat,  so  threat- 
ening seemed  the  sentiments  of  the  crowd.  Just  as 
they  were  setting  off,  a  woman  of  the  city  said  to 
Marie  Antoinette,  "  Go,  my  little  beauty ;  you  will 
see  worse  times  than  this." 

A  few  minutes  later,  between  Epernay  and  Dor- 
mans,  the  berlin  containing  the  royal  family  was 
joined  by  another  carriage  from  which  alighted  three 
deputies  from  the  National  Assembly,  —  Barnave, 
Potion,  and  the  Marquis  de  Latour-Marbourg.  They 
had  been  sent  to  meet  Louis  XVI.  in  the  capacity  of 
commissioners. 


X. 

MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  BARNAVE. 

THERE  are  some  proud  and  generous  men  in 
whom  triumphant  sovereigns,  with  their  pomp 
of  luxury  and  power  and  their  train  of  flatterers, 
inspire  a  sort  of  repulsion^  and  yet  who  instinctively 
become,  so  soon  as  they  can  gain  nothing  by  it,  the 
servants  and  courtiers  of  sovereigns  in  misfortune. 
In  times  of  prosperit}^  they  ask  themselves,  "  Where 
is  the  good  in  swelling  this  flood  of  servility  ?  Why 
should  I  add  my  voice  to  this  concert  of  adulation  ?  " 
But  the  sight  of  unhappy,  abandoned,  and  betra3^ed 
princes  inspires  in  them  a  mingled  tenderness  and 
respect.  They  do  not  concern  themselves  to  be  faith- 
ful when  fidelity  is  rewarded  with  money  and  prefer- 
ment ;  but  when  it  leads  to  ruin,  poverty,  exile,  and 
death,  fidelity  appears  to  them  an  austere  joy  and  a 
sacred  duty.  Barnave  was  one  of  these  men.  He 
had  been  unmoved  by  the  prestige  of  success ;  the 
majesty  of  suffering  subdued  him.  Marie  Antoinette, 
illuminated  by  the  reflection  of  the  crown  diamonds, 
radiant  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Mirrors,  with  her  pat- 
ronizing air,  her  triumphant  beauty,  her  goddess-like 

189 


190  MARIE  ANTOiyETTE. 

walk ;  Marie  Antoinette  amid  the  refined  elegance  of 
the  Little  Trianon ;  Marie  Antoinette  surrounded  by 
the  splendors  of  a  royal  fete,  a  court  ball,  a  gala 
representation  at  the  Versailles  theatre  or  the  Paris 
Opera ;  Marie  Antoinette,  on  the  day  of  a  solemn 
entry,  in  a  carriage  covered  with  gold,  and  drawn  by 
eight  magnificent  horses,  would  have  stirred  Barnave's 
imagination  very  little.  But  the  calumniated,  insulted, 
threatened  Queen ;  the  Queen  dressed  in  the  modest 
gown  of  a  governess ;  the  Queen  shut  up  with  her 
family  in  the  dismal  carriage,  slowly  advancing,  like 
a  hearse,  on  the  road  to  anguish  and  humiliations ; 
the  Queen  Avhose  eyes  are  reddened  by  tears ;  the 
Queen  whose  locks  have  been  whitened  by  her  grief ; 
the  unfortunate  Queen  invincibly  attracts  the  tribune 
and  transforms  him  into  a  chevalier. 

Barnave  was  not  quite  thirty  years  old.  Born  at 
Grenoble,  October  22,  1761,  of  a  respected  lawyer, 
and  a  noble  and  beautiful  mother,  he  belonged  to 
the  reformed  religion.  He  had  early  manifested  an  ar- 
dent and  lofty  soul.  At  sixteen  he  fought  a  duel  in 
behalf  of  his  younger  brother,  who  had  been  insulted. 
Impatient  of  injustice,  and  penetrated  with  the  senti- 
ment of  human  dignity,  he  swore  to  himself  to  redeem 
his  caste  from  the  humiliation  to  which  it  was  con- 
demned under  the  old  reo^ime.  Having^  been  made  a 
deputy  to  the  States-General,  he  at  once  gained  the 
reputation  of  a  great  orator.  Full  of  talent  and 
energy,  he  held  his  own  against  the  most  powerful 
antagonists,  against  Mirabeau  himself.     In  the  eyes 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  BARN  AVE.        191 

of  the  court  he  passed  for  an  irreconcilable  dema- 
gogue, the  most  to  be  dreaded  among  the  promoters 
of  sedition.  He  who  had  so  often  thundered  against 
the  abuses  of  the  monarchy,  who  for  a  moment  had 
made  the  popularity  of  Mirabeau  grow  pale,  at  the 
time  when  Mirabeau  was  secretly  drawing  closer  to 
the  trembling  throne ;  who,  in  appearing  before  the 
royal  family,  had  perhaps  promised  himself  to  stifle 
every  sentiment  of  pity  in  his  soul,  could  not  resist 
the  spectacle  of  misfortune.  As  M.  de  Lamartine 
has  said,  Mirabeau  sold  himself,  and  Barnave  gave 
himself  away.  The  man  of  genius  was  bought  with 
heaps  of  gold ;  a  glance  subdued  the  man  of  feeling. 

When  the  three  deputies,  sent  by  the  Constituent 
Assembly  to  meet  the  royal  family  and  bring  them 
back  to  Paris,  stopped  the  berlin  on  the  road  between 
Epernay  and  Dormans,  they  decided  that  two  of  them 
ought  to  enter  it.  The  Queen  seemed  to  wish  that 
the  Marquis  de  Latour-Marbourg,  whose  face  was  not 
unknown  to  her,  should  be  one.  Perceiving  this, 
M.  de  Latour-Marbourg  said  to  her,  in  an  undertone, 
that  she  could  count  on  liim  as  a  faithful  subject,  but 
that  it  might  be  otherwise  with  Barnave,  one  of  the 
most  influential  members  of  the  Assembly.  He  added 
that  it  would  doubtless  flatter  the  young  deputy  from 
Grenoble  to  enter  the  royal  carriage,  and  it  would  be 
to  the  Queen's  interest  to  conciliate  him.  Matters 
were  thus  arranged:  M.  de  Latour-]\Iarbourg  returned 
to  the  carriage  which  had  brought  him  and  his  col- 
leagues from  Paris,  while  Barnave  and  Petion  entered 


192  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

that  of  the  King ;  the  former  sat  between  Louis  XVI. 
and  Marie  Antoinette  on  the  back  seat,  and  the  latter 
on  the  front  one,  between  Madame  Elisabeth  and 
Madame  Roy  ale.  The  Dauphin  sat  by  turns  on  the 
knees  of  his  mother,  his  aunt,  and  his  sister. 

At  first  the  presence  of  these  new  travelling-com- 
panions was  a  somewhat  serious  embarrassment.  The 
Queen  did  not  trouble  herself  to  begin  a  conversation 
with  them.  She  drew  her  veil  down  and  determined 
not  to  open  her  mouth  during  the  rest  of  the  journey. 
Barnave,  far  from  being  offended  by  this  silence, 
maintained  the  most  respectful  attitude  toward  her 
and  the  King.  Louis  XVI.,  who  loved  to  talk,  was 
the  first  to  break  the  ice.  .With  the  simple  and 
straightforward  manner  which  befitted  his  character 
he  spoke  freely  of  men  and  things.  In  his  responses, 
Barnave  courteously  observed  the  fine  distinctions 
required  by  the  difference  of  rank,  and  though  he 
spoke  like  a  man  devoted  to  liberty  and  the  new 
ideas,  he  also  showed  himself  loyal  to  the  throne, 
and  unwilling  to  divorce  royalty  from  the  nation  in 
his  projects  of  reform. 

Marie  Antoinette  listened.  She  was  struck  by 
the  wit,  tact,  and  moderation  of  Barnave.  Like  the 
woman  that  she  was,  she  recognized  at  once  in  the 
manners,  the  voice,  and  the  countenance  of  the  young 
deputy,  the  attentions  of  a  well-bred  man,  and  felt 
herself  the  object  of  a  discreet  and  respectful  pity. 
She  lost  not  a  word  of  the  conversation  in  which  she 
had  at  first  resolved  to  take  no  part.     Changing  her 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  BARN  AVE.        193 


mind,  she  finally  began  to  speak.  Her  language,  like 
her  person,  was  gentle,  charming,  and  majestic.  In 
her  voice,  as  in  her  glance,  there  was  something 
gracious,  kindly,  and  persuasive,  which,  coming  from 
the  heart,  Avent  to  the  heart.  Undaunted  by  tyranny, 
Barnave  felt  himself  vanquished  by  this  strong  weak- 
ness, this  imposing  sorrow.  His  former  hatreds 
melted  in  an  instant,  like  snow  beneath  the  genial 
ravs  of  sunshine.  The  idea  that  he,  the  citizen,  the 
plebeian,  the  unknown  young  man  of  two  years  since, 
might  by  a  strange  freak  of  destiny  become  the  sup- 
port, the  protector,  the  saviour  of  this  beautiful  queen, 
once  so  flattered  and  so  brilliant,  —  this  idea  flattered 
his  self-love  at  the  same  time  that  it  awakened  in 
his  soul,  where  democrat  and  knight-errant  blended 
into  one,  the  most  elevated  sentiments  and  chivalrous 
aspirations.  Sympathy,  respect,  devotion,  flooded  his 
soul  like  a  rising  tide.  Barnave  knew  Avell  that  in 
displaying  an  interest  in  Marie  Antoinette  he  w^as 
voluntarily  exposing  himself  to  the  greatest  danger. 
But  this  reflection,  far  from  cooling  his  ardor,  made 
it  all  the  more  keen  and  fervent.  Whatever  hap- 
pens, said  he  to  himself,  I  will  be  the  defender  and 
servant  of  this  woman.  Sovereigns  in  misfortune 
easily  experience  a  sentiment  little  known  to  them 
in  prosperous  days,  —  that  of  gratitude.  Then  they 
prize  a  word,  a  tear,  a  sigh.  They  recognize,  and 
thank  Heaven,  that  human  nature  is  not  all  cow- 
ardly, and  that  amidst  so  many  ingrates  there  are 
here  and  there  honest,  devoted,  and  generous  hearts. 


194  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Between  Dormans  and  Chateau-Thierry  it  was 
Barnave  who  rescued  from  their  torture  the  three 
body-guards  who  had  been  exposed  all  along  the 
road  to  the  rage  of  a  ferocious  population.  Some 
demons  proposed  to  tie  them  fast  to  the  wheels  of 
the  royal  carriage,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  so 
bound,  to  put  them  to  death.  They  were  about  to 
execute  this  cannibal-like  scheme  when  the  deputy 
from  Grenoble  leaned  out  of  the  carriage  door  to  see 
what  was  going  on.  He  alighted  at  once,  and  had 
influence  enough  to  prevent  the  crime. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  faubourg  of  Meaux  a  simi- 
lar scene  was  reproduced.  A  poor  village  cur^,  who 
had  been  so  imprudent  as  to  approach  the  royal 
carriage,  was  about  to  be  massacred.  The  Queen 
uttered  a  cry.  Barnave,  throwing  himself  almost 
out  of  the  carriage  door,  shouted,  "  Frenchmen ! 
nation  of  heroes,  are  you  going  to  become  a  people 
of  assassins?"  Madame  Elisabeth,  touched  by  this 
noble  outburst,  caught  hold  of  the  young  man  by  the 
skirt  of  his  coat.  The  powerful  voice  of  the  deputy 
from  Grenoble  availed  to  save  the  ecclesiastic  from 
death.  In  speaking  of  this  incident  later  on,  Marie 
Antoinette  said  that  in  the  most  critical  moments 
whimsical  contrasts  were  what  always  struck  her; 
and  that  on  this  occasion  the  sight  of  the  pious 
Elisabeth  hanging  on  to  Barnave  by  the  tail  of  his 
coat  had  seemed  the  most  unexpected  and  surprising 
thing  about  it. 

Meanwhile,  the   emotion  of  this  new  defender  of 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  BAR  NAVE.        195 

the  throne  continued  to  increase.  What  affected 
him  in  Marie  Antoinette  was  the  Queen,  the  woman, 
and,  above  all,  the  mother.  He  was  permitted  to 
take  the  Dauphin  on  his  knees,  and  his  fingers  played 
with  the  child's  fair  ringlets.  "You  are  not  sorry 
to  come  back  to  Paris,  are  you?"  he  asked  him. 
"  Oh !  I  am  happy  everywhere,"  answered  the  future 
Louis  XVII.,  "provided  I  am  with  my  father,  and 
mamma  Queen  .  .  .  and  with  my  aunt,  my  sister,  and 
Madame  de  Tourzel."  "  It  is  a  sad  journey  for  my 
children,  sir,"  said  Louis  XVI.  "What  a  difference 
between  this  one  and  that  we  made  to  Cherbourg  I 
At  that  time  calumny  had  not  yet  led  public  opinion 
astray.  .  .  .  They  may  misunderstand  me,  but  they 
shall  not  change  me ;  love  for  my  people  will  alwaj^s 
remain  the  first  need  of  my  heart,  as  it  is  the  first  of 
my  duties."  The  Dauphin  took  his  father's  hand 
and  kissed  it.  Then  the  good  Louis  XVI.  embraced 
his  son  tenderly,  calling  him  as  of  old,  "  My  dear 
little  Norman ! "  "  Don't  be  sad,  father,"  said  the 
child,  who  was  crying.  "Another  time  we  will  go 
to  Cherbourg." 

Profoundly  touched,  Barnave  redoubled  his  oblig- 
ing attentions.  Throughout  the  journey  he  was  a 
model  of  delicacy,  courtesy,  and  respect,  and  he  made 
the  most  favorable  impression  on  ]\Ladame  Elisabeth 
as  well  as  on  the  Queen.  Three  months  later  on, 
after  the  discussion  of  the  Assemblv  on  the  colonies, 
the  pious  sister  of  Louis  XVI.  wrote  to  Madame  de 
Raigecourt:  "Barnave  spoke  with  so  much  force  that 


196  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

he  carried  all  before  him.  That  man  has  great  intel- 
ligence and  talent ;  he  might  have  been  a  great  man 
if  he  had  chosen ;  he  may  be  so  yet.  But  the  anger 
of  Heaven  is  not  yet  all  spent.  How  should  it  be  ? 
What  are  we  doing  to  appease  it? " 

Madame  Elisabeth  was  right.  The  Divine  wrath 
was  not  yet  exhausted.  Barnave  was  to  be  sacrificed 
almost  at  the  same  time  as  the  royal  victims  to  whom 
he  so  generously  devoted  himself.  He  was  arrested 
as  a  suspected  royalist  August  19,  1792,  and  re- 
mained more  than  a  year  in  prison  before  mounting 
the  scaffold  whereon  he  was  to  die  at  the  age  of 
thirty-two.  His  works,  published  by  M.  B(^renger 
of  Drome,  exhibit  fully  the  elevation  of  his  mind 
and  the  true  nobility  of  his  heart.  A  captive,  he 
remembered  with  emotion  the  journey  which  had 
left  such  profound  traces  in  his  soul ;  and  in  speak- 
ing of  this  touching  and  critical  time,  he  said  that 
by  graving  on  his  imagination  the  memorable  exam- 
ple of  the  royal  misfortunes,  it  had  doubtless  aided 
him  to  support  his  own  more  easily. 

Transferred  from  the  prisons  of  Dauphiny  to  Paris, 
in  November,  1793,  to  be  judged,  or,  rather,  to  be 
assassinated  by  the  revolutionary  tribunal,  Barnave, 
while  on  the  way,  addressed  a  letter  to  one  of  his 
sisters,  which  is  like  the  testament  of  his  soul,  where 
stoicism  and  tenderness  went  hand  in  hand.  "  I  am 
still  young,"  he  wrote,  "and  yet  I  have  already 
known,  already  experienced,  all  the  good  and  all  the 
evil  which  make  up  human  life.     Endowed  with  a 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE  AND  BARN  AVE,        197 

vivid  imagination,  I  long  believed  in  chimeras  ;  but  I 
am  undeceived,  and  at  the  moment  when  I  am  about 
to  quit  life,  the  only  things  I  regret  are  friendship 
(no  one  can  flatter  himself  with  having  tasted  its 
sweetness  more  deeply  than  I)  and  the  cultivation  of 
the  mind,  the  habit  of  which  has  often  delightfully 
occupied  my  days." 

Barnave  is  the  Andr^  Ch^nier  of  politics.  Like 
the  young  poet,  the  young  orator  could  say,  putting 
his  hand  to  his  forehead,  "And  yet,  there  was  some- 
thing there ! "  A  veil  of  melancholy  and  sadness 
covers  the  destiny  of  each.  It  is  genius  extinguished 
at  its  dawning ;  it  is  youth  which  succumbs  before 
having  gathered  all  its  harvest  of  talent  and  of  glory. 
Barnave  died  the  victim  of  his  chivalrous  devotion 
to  Marie  Antoinette.  He  did  not  regret  it.  On  the 
eve  of  the  10th  of  August  he  said  to  the  Queen,  on 
seeing  her  for  the  last  time,  "As  I  am  very  sure  of 
paying  one  day  with  my  head  for  the  interest  with 
which  your  misfortunes  have  inspired  me,  I  beg 
of  you,  Madame,  for  all  recompense,  the  honor  of 
kissing  your  hand." 


XI. 

petion's  account. 

IN  Barnave  we  have  just  seen  a  man  of  mind  and 
feeling  who,  to  the  ideas  and  principles  of  a 
democrat,  united  the  tact  and  sense  of  fitness  which 
are  lacking  in  many  a  nobleman.  One  might  say- 
that  the  young  deputy  from  Grenoble  was  in  the 
royal  carriage  by  way  of  contrast  to  Potion,  the  other 
commissioner  of  the  Assembly.  The  one  thought 
liberalism  in  nowise  incompatible  with  the  tone  and 
manners  of  good  society,  while  the  other  fancied  that 
all  true  demagogues  should  display  a  certain  rudeness 
which  the  vulgar  take  for  austerity.  At  bottom, 
Potion  was  not  a  bad  man.  There  was  even  a  sort 
of  sensibility  in  his  soul.  But  he  had  heard  so  many 
declamations,  and  he  had  so  often  declaimed  himself 
against  kings  and  queens,  that  the  least  compassion 
for  them  seemed  to  him  a  lack  of  patriotism.  He 
will  preserve,  then,  in  the  carriage  of  Louis  XVL, 
the  same  attitude  that  he  would  in  the  Jacobin  club 
or  the  club  of  the  Cordeliers.  The  royal  family  will 
see  him  eat  and  diink  in  the  berlin  in  an  unman- 
nerly way,  throwing  his  chicken-bones  out  of  the 
198 


PETION'S  ACCOUNT.  199 

carriage  door  at  the  risk  of  sending  them  into 
the  King's  face,  and  obliging  Madame  Elisabeth  to 
pour  out  his  drink  without  thanking  her.  It  is  a 
poetic  sentiment  which  animates  Barnave's  gentle 
soul,  but  the  motive  power  of  Potion's  acts  and 
words  is  the  arrogance  of  an  upstart.  A  provincial 
lawyer,  intoxicated  with  his  success  in  the  lower 
court  of  Chartres  and  his  exploits  as  a  lady-killer 
in  the  bourgeois  circles  of  his  little  town,  he  did  not 
doubt  that,  transplanted  to  a  larger  scene,  he  was 
destined  to  still  more  brilliant  triumphs.  Proud  of 
his  position  as  deputy,  and  still  prouder  of  his  title 
and  mission  as  envoy  of  the  Assembly,  he  felt  himself 
a  sovereign,  and  delighted  in  treating  Louis  XVI.  as 
his  equal,  not  to  say  as  his  inferior.  He  desired  to 
teach  power  a  lesson.  He  spoke  ex  cathedra.  He 
gave  a  course  in  politics.  He  disputed,  he  perorated, 
he  domineered.  The  account  he  has  left  of  his  jour- 
ney with  the  royal  family  gives  the  best  notion  of  his 
incredible  presumption.  This  document,  which  was 
seized  with  Petion's  other  papers  when  he  fled  after 
May  31,  1793,  is  written  entirely  in  his  own  hand. 
M.  ]\Iortimer-Ternaux  published  it  for  the  first  time  in 
his  Hist 0 ire  de  la  Terreur. 

The  narrative  opens  magniloquently :  "  The  King's 
carriage  stops.  We  go  to  meet  it.  An  usher  pre- 
cedes us,  and  the  ceremonial  is  conducted  in  an  im- 
posing manner.  As  soon  as  we  are  perceived,  some 
one  cries,  '  There  are  the  deputies  of  the  National 
Assembly  I '     Everj'body  hastens   to   make   way  for 


200  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


US.  The  cortege  was  superb.  There  were  National 
Guards  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  with  uniforms  and 
without  them,  with  arms  of  all  descriptions.  The 
sun,  near  its  setting,  shed  its  light  upon  this  fair 
ensemble  in  the  midst  of  peaceful  fields.  I  can  give 
no  idea  of  the  sentiment  of  respect  with  which  we 
were  surrounded." 

Potion  was  thirty-two  years  old.  He  belonged  to 
that  category  of  puppies,  vain  even  to  artlessness, 
who  believe  themselves  irresistible,  and  imagine  that 
they  produce  a  profound  impression  on  all  women 
whatsoever.  Lauzun  had  not  more  self-confidence 
than  he.  Reader,  no  matter  how  prodigious,  how 
mad,  how  ridiculous,  you  may  suppose  Potion's  fatuity 
to  have  been,  it  will  still  surpass  your  expectation. 
He  fancied  —  could  you  believe  it? — ^that  Madame 
Elisabeth,  Madame  Elisabeth  herself,  the  most  holy, 
the  most  austere  of  women,  experienced  a  strong 
physical  attraction  toward  him;  he  thought  he  saw 
in  this  Princess  a  Circe,  against  whom  it  was  neces- 
sary for  him,  for  Pdtion,  if  you  please,  to  forearm  his 
rieid  virtue.  Listen  to  him:  "Madame  Elisabeth 
fastened  her  soft  eyes  upon  me  with  that  air  of 
languor  given  by  unhappiness,  and  which  inspires  a 
lively  interest.  Our  glances  met  several  times  with 
a  sort  of  understanding  and  attraction.  The  moon 
besfan  to  shed  her  mild  radiance.  Madame  Elisabeth 
took  Madame  Royale  upon  her  knees ;  afterwards 
she  placed  her  half  on  her  own  knee  and  half  on 
mine.     Madame  Royale  fell  asleep.     I  stretched  out 


PETION'S  ACCOUNT.  201 


my  arm ;  Madame  Elisabeth  stretched  hers  out  above 
mine.  Her  glances  seemed  to  me  more  affecting ;  I 
perceived  a  certain  relaxation  of  constraint  in  her 
demeanor;  her  eyes  were  moist,  their  melancholy 
blended  with  a  sort  of  sensuous  charm.  I  may 
deceive  myself,  —  the  sensibility  of  grief  is  easily 
mistaken  for  that  of  pleasure,  —  but  I  think  that  if 
we  had  been  alone,  that  if,  as  by  enchantment,  every 
one  else  had  vanished,  she  would  have  sunk  into  my 


arms." 


This  supposition  flattered  the  sensual  and  austere 
demagogue,  and  at  the  same  time  it  roused  his  indig- 
nation. He  adds :  "  I  was  so  astounded  with  this 
state  of  affairs  that  I  said  to  myself  :  What !  can  this 
be  a  trick  to  buy  me  at  such  a  price  ?  Would  Madame 
Elisabeth  agree  to  sacrifice  her  honor  in  order  to 
make  me  lose  mine?  Yes;  nothing  costs  too  much 
at  court ;  they  are  capable  of  an3^thing.  The  Queen 
could  have  arranged  the  plan.  And  then,  consider- 
ing her  unaffected  bearing,  and  self-love  also  insinu- 
ating that  she  might  find  me  attractive,  I  became 
persuaded,  and  took  pleasure  in  the  thought,  that  she 
was  agitated  by  keen  emotions,  that  she  would  her- 
self desire  that  no  witnesses  were  present." 

Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  behold  your  worthy  pupil  I 
These  are  the  ideas,  if  not  the  style  and  talent,  of  an 
adept  of  the  Nouvelle  Heloise.  But  let  pure  demo- 
crats be  reassured.  Petion  will  not  allow  himself  to 
weaken.  "  I  took  good  care,"  he  says,  "  not  to  com- 
promise my  character.     I  granted  all  I  could  to  what 


202  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

I  believed  to  be  Madame  Elisabeth's  condition ;  but, 
nevertheless,  without  granting  enough  to  permit  her 
to  think,  or  even  to  suspect,  that  anything  would 
alter  my  opinions.  I  think  she  understood  it  wonder- 
fully, and  that  she  saw  that  the  most  seductive  temp- 
tations would  be  in  vain,  for  I  remarked  a  certain 
cooling  off,  a  certain  severity,  which  in  women  often 
springs  from  irritated  self-love." 

The  force  of  truth  is  such  that  even  from  Petion 
himself  it  wrests  some  just  remarks.  This  enemy  of 
kings  and  courts,  this  systematically  hostile  observer, 
is  astonished  to  find  that  something  good  may  be 
found  in  royal  souls  by  making  diligent  search.  He 
recognized  in  his  travelling-companions  "an  air  of 
simplicity  and  of  family"  which  pleased  him.  He 
deigned  to  say  of  Louis  XVI. ;  "  Those  who  do  not 
know  the  King  might  be  tempted  to  mistake  his 
timidity  for  stupidity.  But  they  would  be  in  error. 
It  is  very  seldom  that  anything  unbecoming  escapes 
him,  and  I  have  not  heard  him  make  a  foolish 
remark." 

Madame  Elisabeth  inspired  him  with  a  sort  of 
involuntary  admiration,  in  spite  of  the  odious  and 
stupid  surmises  he  had  just  made  concerning  her. 
"  I  should  be  very  much  surprised,"  he  says,  "  if  she 
had  not  a  good  and  beautiful  soul,  although  one 
deeply  imbued  with  the  prejudices  of  birth  and 
spoiled  by  the  vices  of  a  court  education."  There 
is  even  a  moment  when  his  hatred  and  inveterate 
prejudices   against    Marie    Antoinette  give  place  to 


PETION'S  ACCOUNT.  203 

a  less  unjust  judgment.  Inflexible  where  the  Queen 
is  concerned,  he  becomes  almost  humane  toward  the 
mother.  "  The  Queen,"  he  said,  "  talked  with  me 
about  the  education  of  her  children.  She  spoke  like 
the  mother  of  a  family  and  as  a  sufficiently  well- 
instructed  woman.  She  said  that  no  flattery  should 
be  offered  to  princes,  and  that  it  was  essential  never 
to  tell  them  anything  but  the  truth."  But  he  quickly 
repents  of  his  amiability.  "I  have  since  learned," 
he  adds,  "that  this  is  the  fashionable  jargon  in  all 
the  courts  of  Europe."  And  he  ends  by  declaring 
that  "the  Queen  had  not,  in  any  sense,  either  the 
bearing  or  the  attitude  befitting  her  position." 

Marie  Antoinette,  in  her  conversation  with  Petion, 
defended  her  husband's  cause  energetically.  "Peo- 
ple blame  the  King  very  much,"  said  she ;  "  but  they 
do  not  really  understand  the  situation  in  which  he 
is  placed.  He  is  constantly  told  contradictory  stories, 
and  he  does  not  know  what  to  believe.  Opposing 
and  mutually  destructive  counsels  are  given  him,  one 
after  the  other ;  and  he  does  not  know  what  to  do. 
People  complain  to  him  about  private  misfortunes 
and  murders  at  the  same  time.  It  is  all  this  which 
determined  him  to  leave  the  capital.  The  crown  is 
in  suspense  over  his  head.  You  are  not  ignorant  that 
there  is  a  party  which  does  not  desire  a  king,  and 
that  this  party  is  increasing  daily." 

Petion  was  already  republican  in  theory,  but  in 
practice  he  still  remained  a  royalist.  He  replied  that 
his  principles  and  sentiments  inclined  him  to  prefer 


204  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

a  republican  form  of  government  to  any  other,  but 
added  that  there  were  certain  republics  which  he 
would  like  still  less  than  the  despotism  of  a  single 
man.  Petion  belonged  to  that  class  of  persons  who 
like  to  play  with  fire,  and  who  say  naively  to  the 
Revolution,  ^'  Thou  shalt  go  no  further ! "  as  if 
the  Revolution  had  a  mind  to  listen  to  them.  "  It 
is  not  possible,"  he  went  on,  "to  persuade  one's  self 
in  good  faith  that  the  republican  party  is  to  be 
dreaded.  It  is  composed  of  wise  and  high-principled 
men  who  know  how  to  estimate  probabilities,  and 
who  would  not  risk  a  general  panic  which  might  as 
easily  lead  to  despotism  as  to  liberty." 

Unhappy  Petion !  How  quickly  he  will  descend 
the  incline  which  leads  to  the  abyss !  He  will  be 
deadly  to  the  very  end,  —  deadly  to  the  royal  family 
and  to  himself ;  he  is  marked  with  the  seal  of  fatality, 
like  almost  all  the  actors  in  the  great  revolutionary 
drama.  On  the  10th  of  August  in  the  following 
year,  he  will  combine  the  parts  of  Judas  and  Pontius 
Pilate.  At  nightfall  he  will  give  Louis  XVI.  the 
kiss  of  peace,  and  at  daybreak  next  morning  he 
will  wash  his  hands  of  the  approaching  catastrophe. 
He  will  vote  for  the  King's  death,  but  with  a  re- 
prieve and  an  appeal  to  the  people,  and  perhaps  this 
mitigation  of  his  vote  may  be  caused  by  the  recol- 
lection of  his  journey  with  the  unhappy  sovereign. 
Condemned  himself  on  May  31,  1793,  at  the  same 
time  with  the  Girondins,  he  will  take  to  flight ;  he 
will  perish  miserably  in  the  waste  lands  near  Bor- 


PETIOyS  ACCOUNT.  205 

deaux,  and  his  body  will  be  found  unburied  and  half 
devoured  by  wolves.     But  we  will  not  anticipate. 

Let  us  return  to  June  23,  1791,  and  to  the  road 
traversed  by  the  royal  berlin.  It  reached  Dormans 
between  midnight  and  one  o'clock,  June  23-24. 
"  We  got  out,"  says  Potion,  "  at  the  inn  where  we 
had  eaten  a  morsel  in  coming,  and  this  inn,  though 
passable  for  a  small  place,  was  hardly  fit  for  the 
reception  of  the  royal  family.  I  confess,  however, 
that  I  was  not  sorry  to  let  the  court  know  what  an 
ordinary  tavern  is  like.  It  was  difficult  to  sleep, 
because  the  National  Guards  and  all  the  people  of 
the  neighborhood  kept  up  a  constant  singing,  danc- 
ing, and  drinking." 

They  left  Dormans  June  24,  between  five  and  six 
in  the  morning.  During  the  day  they  stopped  at 
Fert^-sous-Jouarre.  The  mayor  of  the  town,  M.  Reg- 
nard,  had  sent  word  that  he  would  be  happy  to  enter- 
tain the  august  travellers,  and  Louis  XVI.  accepted 
the  invitation.  Here,  as  at  Chalons-sur-Marne,  the 
royal  family  experienced  some  consolation.  Madame 
Regnard  received  them  with  signs  of  the  most  pro- 
found respect.  "  Madame,"  said  Marie  Antoinette, 
accosting  her,  "  you  are  doubtless  the  mistress  of  the 
house."  The  mayor's  w4fe  returned,  with  perfect 
tact,  "  I  was  so  before  Your  Majesty  entered  it." 
The  house  was  charming,  and  had  a  terrace  on  the 
shore  of  the  Marne,  where  Madame  Elisabeth  chatted 
with  Potion  before  dinner.  The  King  himself  came 
out  on  this  terrace  to  in^dte  the  three  commissioners 


206  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

of  the  Assembly  to  share  his  repast.  All  three 
refused.  Madame  Regnard  and  her  husband  were  to 
pay  dear  later  on  for  the  honor  and  happiness  of 
having  testified  their  regard  for  the  royal  family. 
On  quitting  this  house,  so  loyally  hospitable,  the 
Queen  said  to  the  Dauphin,  "  My  son,  thank  Madame 
for  her  attentions ;  tell  her  I  shall  never  forget  it." 
"  Mamma  thanks  you  for  the  care  you  have  taken  of 
us,"  said  the  child,  "  and  I  love  you  very  much  for 
having  given  pleasure  to  mamma." 

They  set  off  again  at  five  in  the  afternoon.  The 
sun  was  still  above  the  horizon  when  they  arrived 
before  Meaux,  that  city  still  so  full  of  souvenirs  of 
the  great  Bossuet,  whose  sublime  voice  alone  would 
have  been  capable  of  celebrating  the  afflictions  of  the 
martyr  King  and  Queen.  They  alighted  at  the 
bishop's  palace,  where  they  spent  the  night  of  June 
24-25.  After  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette 
had  taken  supper,  they  had  a  conversation  with 
Petion,  at  the  end  of  which  they  summoned  the  three 
body-guards  who  had  accompanied  them  ever  since 
they  quitted  Paris,  —  MM.  de  Maiden,  de  Valory,  and 
de  Moustier.  "  At  Dormans,"  the  King  said  to  them, 
"  M.  Petion  proposed  to  me  to  induce  you  to  make 
your  escape,  disguised  as  National  Guards.  At  that 
time  the  Queen  and  I  refused,  because  we  thought 
that  it  was  secretly  intended  either  to  assassinate 
you  behind  our  backs,  or  to  have  you  arrested  and 
handed  over  to  some  military  commission ;  so  we  said 
nothing  to  you  about  the  proposition.     But  M.  Potion 


PETION'S  ACCOUNT.  207 

lias  just  renewed  it,  and  added  the  barbarous  an- 
nouncement that  at  Paris  your  lives  would  belong  to 
the  people,  so  that,  since  it  might  be  horrible  for  us 
to  behold  servants  whom  we  appear  to  love  killed 
before  our  eyes,  he  thought  he  ought  to  warn  us  that 
there  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost  if  escape  was  to  be 
attempted.  Possibly,  in  renewing  his  offer  to  aid 
you,  he  is  acting  in  better  faith  than  we  supposed. 
It  is  for  you  to  determine  whether  to  profit  by  it." 

The  three  faithful  servants  fell  on  their  knees 
before  their  kind  master.  "  Sire,"  cried  one  of  them, 
the  interpreter  of  the  thoughts  of  all,  "our  lives 
have  been  consecrated  to  Your  Majesties.  You  have 
deigned  to  accept  the  offering.  We  know  how  to 
die  for  you ;  it  would  be  a  thousand  times  easier  than 
to  separate  from  you.  Do  not  doubt.  Sire,  that  death 
awaits  us,  no  matter  where  we  turn.  Our  choice 
could  not  be  doubtful.  Deign  to  permit  your  faith- 
ful guards  still  to  accompany  you.  Grant  them  to 
set  off  with  you  to-morrow.  May  our  tears  obtain 
this  last  grace."  Louis  XVI.,  weeping,  granted  the 
heroic  prayer  of  the  three  body-guards. 

Then  the  Queen  drew  her  tablets  from  her  pocket 
to  write  down  their  baptismal  names  and  those  of 
their  fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  and  brothers,  and  also 
those  of  any  of  their  relatives  and  friends  whom,  on 
her  invitation,  they  dared  recommend  to  Their  Majes- 
ties. "  If  we  have  the  grief  to  lose  you,"  said  Marie 
Antoinette  afterwards,  "and  if  we  do  not  succumb 
ourselves  beneath  the  blows  of  our  enemies,  be  cer- 


208  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

tain  that  our  benefits  will  search  out  your  families. 
I  myself  will  apprise  them  of  their  misfortune,  and 
at  the  same  time  I  will  let  them  know  the  sentiments 
toward  you  which  can  never  leave  our  hearts." 

They  left  Meaux  June  25,  at  six  in  the  morning. 
It  was  the  last  day  of  the  fatal  journey.  "  Never," 
says  Petion,  "  was  a  day  longer  and  more  fatiguing. 
The  heat  was  extreme,  and  we  Avere  enveloped  in 
clouds  of  dust.  The  King  offered  me  something  to 
drink  several  times,  and  poured  it  out  himself.  We 
were  twelve  whole  hours  in  the  carriage  without 
quitting  it  for  a  moment." 

A  little  above  Pantin  the  grenadiers  of  the  National 
Guard  made  their  appearance.  They  disputed  with 
the  cavalry  of  the  escort  on  the  subject  of  the  places 
they  were  to  occupy.  The  grenadiers  obliged  the 
cavalry  to  fall  back,  and  rough  words  passed  between 
them.  An  affray  seemed  imminent.  Bayonets  were 
brandished  around  the  carriage,  the  windows  of  which 
were  kept  down.  According  to  Potion  there  was 
reason  to  fear  for  the  Queen's  life.  The  most  ignoble 
insults,  the  most  infamous  epithets,  the  entire  vocab- 
ulary of  Billingsgate,  were  emptied  on  her.  She  was 
treated  as  one  would  not  treat  a  street-walker,  a 
prostitute.  "  She  need  not  show  us  her  son,"  cried 
one ;  "  he  is  not  her  husband's."  The  Dauphin, 
frightened  by  the  noise  and  the  glitter  of  the  weap- 
ons, began  to  cry  with  fear.  Marie  Antoinette,  who 
was  in  tears,  tried  to  reassure  him.  At  the  same 
time,  the  crowd  were  furiously  demanding  the  death 


PETION'S  ACCOUNT.  209 

of  the  body-guards.  "  Down  with  the  yellow  coats ! " 
was  shouted  on  all  sides.  Some  proposed  tying  them 
to  the  wheels ;  others,  to  cut  them  in  pieces ;  still 
others,  to  burn  them  alive.  The  carriage  was  stopped, 
and  the  body-guards  were  about  to  perish  under  the 
blows  of  the  assassins.  The  energetic  intervention 
of  Barnave  saved  them.  "Drive  on,"  said  he  to  the 
postilions  ;  "  drive  on,  I  tell  you  !  I  am  in  command 
here."  They  started  on  again,  the  horses  going  at 
a  foot-pace  ;  the  crowd,  which  constantly  increased, 
became  still  more  hostile.  At  last  they  entered  Paris. 
There  lay  the  greatest  danger. 


XII. 


THE  RETURN  TO  THE  TUILEEIES. 

ON  this  25th  of  June,  1791,  all  Paris  is  afoot. 
It  is  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  The  berlin 
containing  the  royal  family  arrives  at  the  Barriere  cle 
I'Etoile,  and  goes  clown  the  Champs-Elysees  to  re- 
enter the  Tuileries.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  spec- 
tators are  looking  on  at  the  humiliation  of  royalty. 
The  carriage  makes  its  way  slowly  between  a  double 
row  of  National  Guards.  The  entry  is  still  more 
sinister  than  that  of  October  6.  The  monarchy  is 
more  vanquished,  more  cast  down.  They  had  set  off 
in  the  night  of  Monday  and  Tuesday,  June  20-21. 
They  returned  the  following  Saturday  in  broad  day- 
light, but  this  light  is  more  melancholy  than  that 
darkness.  At  the  moment  of  departure,  night  meant 
hope.  At  the  hour  of  return,  day  meant  despair. 
Ah!  that  Palace  of  the  Tuileries,  how  menacing  it 
rises  in  the  distance,  with  its  architecture  grandiose 
and  severe !  In  vain  the  setting  sun  illumines  it 
with  its  ardent  flames  ;  it  is  sombre,  forbidding,  fatal. 
In  former  daj^s  the  solemn  entries  into  the  good  city 
of  Paris,  the  superb  capital,  were  so  brilliant,  so  tri- 
210 


THE  BETUBN   TO   THE  TUILERIES.  211 

umphant !  There  were  such  joyous  shouts,  such  ac- 
clamations all  along  the  way !  The  crowd  then 
regarded  the  august  family  with  looks  of  love,  ten- 
derness, admiration,  and  rapture  !  And  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, happy  in  being  loved,  thanked  them  with  such 
a  charming  smile !  The  soldiers  presented  arms. 
Mothers  took  their  little  ones  in  their  arms,  and 
pointed  out  to  them  the  King,  the  Queen,  the  Dau- 
phin, the  young  Madame  Royale.  The  drummers 
beat  the  general  alarm.  The  military  bands  played 
Vive  Henri  IV.  The  flags  were  respectfully  inclined 
before  the  sovereign.  The  body-guards  with  their 
brilliant  armor,  the  Swiss  in  red  uniforms,  the  civil 
and  military  households  of  the  King  and  Queen,  the 
Princes  and  Princesses,  the  great  lords  with  their  blue 
ribbons,  the  great  ladies  in  dazzling  toilets  and  spar- 
kling with  precious  stones,  —  all  this  resplendent 
spectacle  and  pomp  of  luxury  and  power  ra^dshed  a 
faithful  people  and  filled  them  with  enthusiasm. 

How  all  is  changed  to-day !  What  a  doleful  scene 
is  shone  on  by  this  sun  of  June  I  Scorn  in  the  place  of 
respect;  hatred  in  the  place  of  love.  Truly  funereal 
procession  !  Supreme  humiliation  of  the  King  and 
of  royalty !  Placards  have  been  posted  up  on  which 
is  written :  "  Any  one  who  applauds  the  King  will  be 
beaten ;  any  one  who  insults  him  will  be  hanged." 
Such  is  the  change  in  men's  ideas  that  a  proclamation 
like  this  is  considered  an  act  of  magnanimity. 

At  first  the  regulation  is  obeyed.  At  the  Barriere 
de  I'Etoile  the  populace  is  malicious  rather  than  furi- 


212  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

ous.  Though  eyes  glow  with  a  savage  flame,  mouths 
are  silent.  Something  like  cool  indifference  modifies 
the  hatred.  But  as  they  draw  nearer  to  the  Tuileries, 
the  order  to  keep  silence  is  violated.  Curses  and 
insults  resound  on  every  side.  The  heat  is  oppres- 
sive. The  clouds  of  hot  dust  raised  by  the  tramp  of 
such  a  multitude  envelops  them  like  a  mourning 
veil.  The  royal  berlin  winds  through  a  forest  of 
bayonets.  Do  you  see  all  these  faces,  made  savage 
by  anger  and  disdain,  —  these  hats  kept  on  in  token 
of  insolence  and  rebellion  ?  Do  you  see  the  National 
Guards  reversing  their  arms  as  at  a  funeral?  Through 
these  billows  of  dust  do  you  see  the  great  captive, 
the  vanquished  man,  the  King  ?  The  King,  who  like 
one  accused,  —  like  a  criminal,  —  will  be  forced  hum- 
bly to  bow  his  head  and  implore  pardon  from  his 
subjects  !  Do  you  recognize  the  woman  who,  for  her 
part,  never  lowers  her  head,  who  is  pursued  by  fate, 
who  sees  misfortune  hovering  about  her  like  a  raven- 
ing vulture ;  but  who,  amid  the  most  horrible  crises 
and  the  most  terrifying  dangers,  never  loses  that 
lofty  courage  which  is  her  ancestral  heritage,  and 
which  is  like  the  very  foundation  and  essence  of  her 
soul? 

If  Marie  Antoinette  alone  had  been  in  danger,  she 
would  have  been  as  unmoved  now  in  crossing  the 
Place  Louis  Quinze  as  she  will  be  two  years  later 
when  she  crosses  the  same  accursed  spot  on  her  way 
to  the  scaffold.  What  occupies  her  is  not  her  own 
safety,  but  that  of  her  husband,  her  children,  her  sis- 


THE  RETURN    TO   THE  TUILERIES.  213 

ter-in-law,  and  her  attendants.  For  herself,  nothing 
moves  her,  nothing  makes  her  turn  pale.  She  soars, 
intrepid  sovereign  that  she  is,  above  danger,  above 
suffering,  above  death.  This  cruel  throng  whose 
cries  she  hears,  inspires  her  not  with  anger,  but  with 
pity.  If  she  does  not  remain  absolutely  unmoved,  it 
is  because  she  is  thinking  about  her  children.  The 
Dauphin's  forehead  is  dripping  with  sweat.  He  can 
hardly  breathe.  "  See,  gentlemen,"  says  the  unhappy 
mother  to  the  National  Guards,  who  march  on  either 
side  the  carriage,  "  see  what  a  state  my  poor  chil- 
dren are  in ;  they  are  choking."  "  We  will  choke 
you  in  another  fashion !  "  mutters  an  infamous  voice. 
The  carriages  arrive  at  the  revolving  bridge  at  the 
end  of  the  Place  Louis  Quinze,  opposite  the  Tuileries. 
It  is  closed  as  soon  as  they  cross  it.  But  the  garden 
is  packed  with  an  innumerable  crowd.  The  danger 
increases  as  they  come  nearer  to  the  palace.  It  is 
a  question  whether  they  will  reach  it  safe  and  sound, 
and  the  same  emotions  are  caused  by  the  thought  of 
re-entrance  as  had  been  by  that  of  going  away.  An- 
guish at  the  departure,  anguish  at  the  return.  The 
greatest  perils  are  incurred  by  the  three  body-guards, 
who  have  remained  on  the  box  of  the  royal  berlin. 
The  exasperated  crowd  clamor  loudly  for  their  death. 
Is  the  blood  of  these  faithful  companions  of  the  fatal 
journey  to  spurt  out  on  the  Queen's  robe  ?  Are  these 
three  devoted  servants  to  be  the  victims  cast  to  the 
tigerish  rabble?  The  carriages  which  have  slowly 
and  with  difficulty  opened  their  way,  arrive  at  last 


214  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

before  the  three  steps  of  the  terrace  which  separates 
the  palace  from  the  garden.  At  once  the  assassins 
spring  towards  the  three  body-guards,  anxious  to 
seize  their  prey.  The  royal  family  are  requested  to 
alight  at  once  so  as  to  avoid  the  sight  of  the  murders 
about  to  be  committed.  But  in  spite  of  the  danger 
they  incur  themselves,  they  will  not  stir,  hoping  that 
their  presence  may  save  their  wretched  servants. 
The  murderers,  in  redoubled  rage,  begin  to  scramble 
up  to  the  coachman's  box,  where  MM.  de  Moustier, 
de  Maiden,  and  de  Valory  still  remain.  Fearing  lest 
the  prolongation  of  the  struggle  may  imperil  the  lives 
of  the  King  and  his  family,  the  three  victims  resolve 
to  end  it  by  voluntarily  coming  down  and  delivering 
themselves  to  the  assassins. 

Madame  Elisabeth,  perceiving  this  movement, 
passes  her  arm  through  a  window  in  the  front  of 
the  berlin  and  seizes  the  skirt  of  M.  de  Valory 's 
waistcoat,  to  prevent  him  from  jumping  down.  But 
he  and  his  comrades  reach  the  ground,  and  offer- 
ing themselves  as  holocausts  to  the  crowd,  advance 
heroically  into  the  midst  of  their  murderers.  They 
are  seized  and  thrown  down,  dragged  about  by  the 
hair,  and  covered  with  blows.  Fortunately,  some 
honest  National  Guards  intervene,  and,  wresting  the 
three  body-guards  from  the  savages,  conduct  them, 
but  not  without  great  difficulty,  into  the  palace. 

The  royal  family  then  leave  the  carriage.  The 
distance  is  short  between  the  three  steps  of  the  ter- 
race where  the  carriage   had  stopped  and  the  door 


THE  RETURN   TO   THE   TUILEEIES.  215 

of  the  Pavilion  of  the  Hoiioge.  But  the  terrace, 
like  the  garden,  is  thronged  by  an  immense  crowd, 
whose  manner  is  so  threatening,  especially  toward  the 
Queen,  that  the  passage,  short  though  it  be,  is  dan- 
gerous enough.  The  King  is  the  first  one  to  alight. 
The  people  are  silent,  but  keep  their  hats  on.  Only 
one  man,  M.  de  Guilhermy,  a  member  of  the  National 
Assembly,  uncovers  respectfully.  ''  Put  your  hat  on 
again  !  "  is  shouted  from  all  sides.  But  he  throws  it 
into  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  too  far  to  be  brought 
back  to  him,  and  cool  and  fearless,  remains  respectful 
amidst  universal  insult,  his  face  calm  and  his  head 
bare. 

Marie  Antoinette  next  leaves  the  carriage.  At 
sight  of  her,  hostile  mutterings  become  audible. 
During  all  this  time  the  National  Assembly  is  in 
session  close  to  the  Tuileries.  It  does  not  choose  to 
interrupt  its  business  on  account  of  a  king.  A  king 
is  such  a  small  affair  nowadays.  Still,  a  few  deputies, 
some  through  respect,  and  others  through  curiosit}^, 
have  come  to  the  terrace  to  witness  the  arrival  of 
the  royal  family.  Among  them  is  one  who  favors 
the  new^  ideas,  the  Vicomte  de  Noailles.  He  hastens 
to  approach  the  Queen  and  offer  her  his  arm.  Marie 
Antoinette  refuses  the  protection  of  an  adversary, 
and  asks  that  of  a  deputy  of  the  right,  whom  she 
has  just  recognized.  "  The  dignity  of  the  empire," 
as  M.  de  Lamartine  has  said,  "  is  found  entire  in  the 
gesture  and  the  heart  of  a  woman." 

One  of  the  officers  of  the  King's  bedchamber,  M. 


216  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Hue,  manages  to  reach  the  carriage,  and  holds  out 
his  arms  to  receive  his  master's  son.  The  eyes  of 
the  little  Prince  fill  with  tears  on  perceiving  this 
faithful  servant.  But  in  spite  of  all  M.  Hue's  efforts 
to  seize  the  Dauphin,  an  officer  of  the  National  Guard 
takes  possession  of  the  child,  carries  him  quickly  into 
the  palace,  and  sets  him  down  on  the  table  in  the 
council  hall  of  the  Ministers. 

Separated  from  her  son,  Marie  Antoinette  has  a 
moment  of  great  anxiety  concerning  the  child's  fate. 
She  enters  the  palace  with  the  King,  Madame  Elisa- 
beth, and  Madame  Royale.  Oh !  what  a  doleful  re- 
entrance.  Never  has  a  dungeon  seemed  more  fatal 
to  prisoners.  No ;  this  is  no  longer  a  palace,  it  is  the 
vestibule  of  the  scaffold.  One  might  say  the  royal 
family  passed  under  the  Caudine  Forks  in  entering 
the  Pavilion  of  the  Horloge.  They  ascend  the  great 
staircase  to  the  first  stor}^  Before  reaching  their 
apartments  they  cross  the  hall,  where  the  three  body- 
guards are  already  prisoners,  and  make  signs  testify- 
ing their  emotion  and  their  joy  at  seeing  them  still 
alive.  M.  de  Maiden  had  received  several  bayonet 
thrusts.  M.  de  Moustier  had  been  struck  in  the 
neck  with  the  blade  of  an  axe.  M.  de  Valory, 
knocked  down  with  the  butt  end  of  a  musket  and 
dragged  around  by  his  hair,  had  been  extremely 
bruised.  They  were  rejoiced  to  have  suffered  for 
their  King  and  Queen.  "What  masters!"  exclaimed 
M.  de  Valory  in  his  narrative,  "  and  how  well  they 
merited  that  one  should  die  for  them  !  " 


THE  RETURN    TO    THE   TUILERIES.  217 


At  last,  behold  Louis  XVI.  once  more  within  the 
palace  of  his  fathers.  He  reappears  there  a  van- 
quished man,  whose  crown  is  no  longer  anything 
but  a  derisive  bauble.  This  is  not  a  real  monarch  ; 
it  is  only  the  phantom  of  a  king.  And  yet  the  force 
of  habit  is  such  that  the  old  etiquette  machine  works 
still,  as  if  its  momentum  were  not  quite  exhausted. 
Louis  XVI.  finds  himself  in  his  apartments  as  if 
nothing  had  happened  since  the  beginning  of  the 
week.  He  is  served  as  usual ;  it  seems  as  though 
he  might  have  just  returned  from  a  hunting  excursion. 
The  reception  in  his  bedchamber  will  take  place  ^Yith 
all  customary  ceremony. 

Camille  Desmoulins,  in  Number  83  of  his  journal, 
the  Revolutions  de  Finance  et  de  Brahant^  thus  at- 
tempted to  cast  ridicule  upon  the  King's  return  to 
the  Tuileries :  "  When  Louis  XVI.  re-entered  his 
apartment,  he  threw  himself  into  an  armchair,  say- 
ing, '  It  is  devilish  hot.'  Then,  '  I  made  a  wretched 
journey  there.  But  it  had  been  running  in  my  head 
this  long  time.'  Afterwards,  looking  at  the  National 
Guards,  who  were  present,  'It  was  a  foolish  thing  I 
did ;  I  grant  it.  But  why  shouldn't  I  play  tricks  as 
well  as  any  one  else?  Let  some  one  bring  me  a 
chicken!'  One  of  his  valets-de-chambre  came  in. 
'  Ah  !  you're  there,  are  you  ?  And  I  too,  I'm  here  ! ' 
The  chicken  was  brought.  Louis  XVI.  ate  and 
drank  with  an  appetite  that  would  have  done  honor 


to  the  King  of  Cocagne. 


5? 


In  Number  84  of  his  journal,  Camille  Desmoulins 


218  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

complained  that  the  National  Assembly  treated  the 
King,  now  become  a  prisoner,  altogether  too  well. 
"  It  will  not  do  to  dance  attendance,"  he  said,  "  to 
suffer  a  criminal  to  get  into  a  bath  on  the  arrival  of 
the  commissioners.  It  will  not  do  to  wait  until  he  is 
in  his  bath-tub,  and  rings  a  bell  to  admit  the  National 
Assembly  like  a  bath-waiter.  Did  any  one  ever  hear 
of  judges  writing  down  their  names,  and  sending 
them  up  by  a  prison  porter,  to  ask  humbly  for  an 
interview  with  a  criminal,  and  his  hour  for  being 
interrogated?  Never  was  there  such  a  contemptible 
action." 

If  anger  and  irony  like  this  is  what  the  revolu- 
tionists feel,  the  royalists  experience  profound  sad- 
ness and  compassion.  In  order  to  get  an  idea  of  it, 
read  this  passage  from  the  Memoirs  of  the  Marquis 
de  Ferrieres,  describing  a  scene  that  took  place  as 
Louis  XVI.  was  re-entering  his  capital  in  humilia- 
tion: "An  old  military  man,  a  chevalier  of  Saint 
Louis,  was  wandering  from  one  place  to  another,  the 
prey  of  a  most  tormenting  anxiety.  Reaching  a 
retired  spot,  he  was  surprised  to  see  one  of  the 
Parisian  horse-guards,  who  was  weeping.  The  old 
military  man  approached  him.  '  Comrade,'  said  he, 
'  who  could  have  distressed  you  to  such  a  point  as 
this  ? '  '  Ah  !  sir,'  answered  the  horse-guard,  sobbing, 
'  I  have  abandoned  my  post ;  I  could  not  keep  it. 
The  sight  I  have  just  seen  has  tortured  my  heart. 
And  I  am  not  the  only  one ;  for  my  poor  horse, 
which  I  took  back  to  the  stable,  will  not  eat.'     The 


THE   RETURN   TO   THE   TUILEBIES.  219 


old  military  man,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  rummaged  in 
his  pocket.  '  My  friend,  I  have  only  these  eighteen 
francs  ;  do  me  the  favor  to  accept  them.'  The  horse- 
guard  repelled  them  with  his  hand,  crying  sorrow- 
fully, '  Ah !  I  see  very  well  that  no  one  believes 
any  longer  in  a  soldier's  honor ! '  The  old  soldier 
threw  himself  into  the  arms  of  this  worthy  man. 
Both  of  them,  in  expressive  silence,  mingled  in  this 
embrace  their  profound  despair  and  the  lively  mutual 
esteem  they  had  conceived  for  each  other."  Does 
not  this  naive  anecdote  recall  the  legends  of  the 
Middle  Ages  ? 

The  Assembly  had  passed  that  morning  a  decree, 
the  first  article  of  which  runs  thus :  "  As  soon  as  the 
King  shall  arrive  at  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries,  a 
guard  shall  be  provisionally  assigned  him,  which, 
under  the  orders  of  the  commandant  general  of  the 
Parisian  guard,  shall  secure  his  safety  and  be  answer- 
able for  his  person."  Other  articles  had  decreed  a 
similar  guard  for  the  heir-presumptive,  and  one  for 
the  Queen.  Moreover,  the  Assembly  ordained  that 
all  those  who  had  accompanied  the  royal  family  in 
their  flight  should  be  put  under  arrest,  and  interro- 
gated. The  King  w^as  provisionally  suspended  from 
the  functions  of  royalty,  and  the  Minister  of  the 
Interior  was  ordered  to  proclaim  the  decree  instantly, 
by  sound  of  trumpet,  in  every  quarter  of  the  capital. 

Night  has  come.  The  fugitives  are  under  a  sort 
of  hallucination.  Their  ears  are  still  deafened  with 
the  incessant  clamor  of  the  last  four  days.     Worn 


220  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

out  by  fatigue  and  emotions  of  every  kind,  they  are 
going  to  seek  repose.  But  the  rest  they  will  take  is 
a  rest  full  of  anguish.  If  he  is  still  living  as  a  man, 
Louis  XVI.  is  dead  as  a  king.  They  promise  him 
that  he  shall  rise  again.  But  at  what  price,  and 
what  manner  of  precarious  life  will  it  be  which  they 
throw  him  as  a  bounty  after  galvanizing  his  royal 
power?  He  no  longer  dares  either  to  act  or  speak. 
He  hardly  dares  to  breathe.  If  he  sighs,  it  is 
reckoned  to  him  as  a  crime.  A  tear  would  be  his 
condemnation.  Day  and  night  he  must  listen  with- 
out complaining  to  the  obscene  and  cruel  talk  that 
goes  on  beneath  his  windows.  The  garden  of  the 
Tuileries  is  now  only  a  revolutionary  camp,  where 
the  hawkers  of  journals  and  pamphlets  cry  their 
wares,  where  conspirators  plot,  and  the  regicidal 
knife  is  slowly  sharpened.  That  beautiful  garden, 
the  former  meeting-place  of  elegance  and  fashion, 
is  as  much  an  arena  of  anarchy  and  disorder  as  that 
of  the  Palais  Royal.  Just  beside  it,  on  the  site  of  the 
future  rue  de  Rivoli  and  rue  de  Castiglione,  is  the 
Hall  of  the  Manege,  where  the  National  Assembly, 
the  inheritor  of  the  rights  of  the  crown,  holds  its  ses- 
sions as  sovereign.  It  is  in  the  narrow  space  between 
the  Place  du  Carrousel  and  the  Hall  of  the  Manege 
that  royalty  writhes  and  agonizes  painfully.  The 
palace  and  the  garden,  the  lanes  which  bound  them 
on  the  west,  the  place  which  bounds  them  on  the 
east,  all  are  fatal,  all  breathe  discord  and  rebellion. 
One  might  say  that  threatening  voices  sound  from 


THE  RETUBN   TO    THE  TUILEIUES.  221 

every  stone  and  tree.  There  is  something  deadly  in 
the  atmosphere.  Catherine  de'  Medici  was  riglit 
in  dreading^  the  Tuileries  as  a  residence  foredoomed 
to  calamities.  In  this  palace,  or  better,  in  this 
prison,  the  heir  of  Saint  Louis,  of  Henri  IV.,  and 
Louis  XIV.  is  no  longer  a  king :  he  is  a  hostage. 


THIRD  PART. 

THE   CLOSE   OF  1791. 
L 

THE  CAPTIVITY  IN   THE  TUILERIES. 

ri^HE  next  morning  after  the  return  from  Ya- 
J^  rennes,  June  26,  1791,  the  Dauphin  said  on 
waking:  "I  had  a  frightful  dream.  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  wolves  and  tigers  and  savage  beasts  that 
wanted  to  eat  me  up."  It  was  not  the  child  only, 
but  the  whole  royal  family,  which  had  been  violently 
disturbed  by  the  shock  of  the  fatal  journey.  They 
awoke  captives  in  the  Tuileries.  They  could  form 
no  illusions  on  that  head.  The  palace  was  a  prison. 
Wishing  to  assure  himself  if  he  were  really  a  captive, 
the  King  presented  himself  at  a  door  where  a  sentry 
was  on  guard. 

"  Do  you  recognize  me  ?  "  asked  Louis  XVI. 

"  Yes,  Sire,"  replied  the  sentry. 

And  the  King  was  obliged  to  go  back. 

The  master  of  the  Tuileries  was  no  longer  the 
sovereign,  but  M.  de  Gouvion,  the  major-general  of 
222 


THE  CAPTIVITY  IN   THE  TUILERIES.  223 

the  National  Guard  and  the  executor  of  M.  de 
Lafayette's  commands.  He  had  asked  for  and  ob- 
tamed  the  right  to  take  whatever  precautions  he 
deemed  necessary,  and  notably  that  of  walling  up 
several  doors  in  the  interior  of  the  palace.  No  one 
could  enter  it  without  a  card  of  admission  obtained 
from  him.  Even  those  engaged  in  the  domestic 
service  of  the  royal  family  were  searched  on  going 
out  and  coming^  in.  ]Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  to 
Madame  de  Bombelles,  July  10 :  "  They  have  estab- 
lished a  sort  of  camp  beneath  the  windows  of  the 
King  and  Queen,  lest  they  should  jump  down  into 
the  garden,  which  is  hermetically  sealed  and  filled 
with  soldiers."  A  real  camp  was,  indeed,  to  be  seen 
there,  with  tents  and  all  else  necessary  to  the  instal- 
lation of  troops.  Sentiies  were  posted  everywhere, 
even  on  the  roofs. 

The  Queen's  women  found  the  greatest  difficulty 
in  getting  access  to  her  apartments.  It  had  been 
resolved  that  she  should  have  no  personal  attendant 
except  the  lady's-maid  who  had  acted  as  a  spy  before 
the  journey  to  Varennes.  A  portrait  of  this  person 
was  placed  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase  leading  to  the 
Queen's  rooms,  so  that  the  sentinel  should  permit  no 
other  woman  to  enter.  Louis  XVI.  was  obliged  to 
appeal  to  Lafayette  in  order  to  have  this  spy  turned 
out  of  the  palace,  where  her  presence  was  an  outrage 
on  Marie  Antoinette. 

This  espionage  and  inquisition  pursued  the  unfor- 
tunate Queen  even  into  her  bedroom.     The  guards 


224  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

were  instructed  not  to  lose  sight  of  her  by  night  or 
day.  They  took  note  of  her  slightest  gestures,  lis- 
tened to  her  slightest  words.  Stationed  in  the  room 
adjoining  hers,  they  kept  the  communicating  door 
always  open,  so  that  they  could  see  the  august  cap- 
tive at  all  times.  One  day,  Louis  XVI.  having  closed 
this  door,  the  officer  on  guard  reopened  it.  "  Those 
are  my  orders,"  said  he.  "  I  will  open  it  every  time. 
If  Your  Majesty  closes  it.  Your  Majesty  will  give 
yourself  a  useless  trouble." 

Marie  Antoinette  caused  the  bed  of  her  lady's- 
maid  to  be  placed  close  to  hers,  so  that,  as  it  could 
be  rolled  about  and  was  provided  with  curtains,  it 
might  prevent  her  being  seen  by  the  officers.  One 
night,  while  the  maid  was  sleeping  profoundly,  and 
the  Queen  sitting  up,  the  officer  entered  the  bed- 
chamber to  give  some  political  advice  to  his  sover- 
eign. Marie  Antoinette  told  him  to  speak  low,  so 
as  not  to  disturb  the  sleeping  woman.  She  awoke, 
however,  and  was  seized  with  mortal  terror  at  seeing 
an  officer  of  the  National  Guard  so  near  the  Queen. 
"  Be  calm,"  Marie  Antoinette  said  to  her,  "  and  do 
not  rise.  The  person  whom  you  see  is  a  good  French- 
man, deceived  concerning  the  intentions  and  position 
of  his  sovereign,  but  whose  language  shows  that  he 
has  a  real  attachment  to  the  King." 

When  the  Queen  went  up  to  see  the  Dauphin,  by 
the  inner  staircase  which  connected  the  ground-floor 
on  which  her  apartment  was  situated  with  the  first 
floor  where  her  children  and  her  husband  slept,  she 


rUE   CAPTIVITY  IN    THE   TUILERIES.  225 

invariably  found  his  door  locked.  One  of  the  officers 
of  the  National  Guard  knocked  at  it,  saying,  "  The 
Queen !  "  At  this  signal,  the  two  officers  who  kept 
watch  over  the  governess  of  the  children  of  France 
opened  the  door. 

It  was  the  height  of  summer.  If,  towards  evening, 
the  King  and  his  family  wanted  a  breath  of  fresh  air, 
they  could  not  show  themselves  at  the  Avindows  of 
their  palace  without  being  exposed  to  the  insults  and 
invectives  of  the  people  who  were  on  the  terrace. 

Every  day,  deputations  from  different  quarters  of 
the  city,  suspicious  and  determined  to  see  for  them- 
selves what  precautions  were  taken  and  what  vigi- 
lance exercised,  would  arrive  at  the  Tuileries.  At 
night  the  King  and  Queen  would  be  awakened  to 
make  sure  they  had  not  taken  flight.  M.  de  Lafay- 
ette or  M.  de  Gouvion  were  roused  up  also,  to  warn 
them  of  pretended  attempts  to  escape.  The  alarms 
were  continual.  August  25,  Madame  Elisabeth  wTote : 
''  To-night  a  sentinel  who  was  in  a  corridor  up  stairs 
fell  asleep,  dreamed  I  don't  know  what,  and  w^oke  up 
screaming.  In  an  instant,  every  guard,  as  far  as  the 
end  of  the  Louvre  gallery,  did  the  same.  In  the 
garden,  also,  there  was  a  terrible  panic." 

The  precautions  taken  were  so  rigorous,  that  it 
was  forbidden  to  say  Mass  in  the  palace  chapel,  be- 
cause the  distance  between  it  and  the  apartments  of 
Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette  was  thought  too 
great.  A  corner  of  the  Gallery  of  Diana,  where  a 
wooden  altar  was  erected,  bearing  an  ebony  crucifix 


226  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

and  a  few  vases  of  flowers,  became  the  only  spot 
where  the  son  of  Saint  Louis,  the  Most  Christian 
King,  could  hear  Mass. 

And  yet,  among  the  guards,  now  transformed  into 
veritable  jailers,  there  were  to  be  found  some  well 
intentioned  men  who  testified  a  respectful  regard  for 
the  royal  family,  and  sought  to  lessen  the  severity  of 
the  orders  they  had  received.  Such  was  Saint  Prix, 
an  actor  at  the  Comedie-Fran^aise.  A  sentinel  was 
always  on  duty  in  the  dark  and  narrow  corridor 
behind  the  Queen's  apartments  which  divided  the 
ground-floor  in  two.  The  post  was  not  in  great 
demand,  and  Saint  Prix  often  asked  for  it.  He 
facilitated  the  short  interviews  which  the  King  and 
Queen  had  in  this  corridor,  and  if  he  heard  the 
slightest  noise,  he  gave  them  warning.  Marie  Antoi- 
nette had  reason,  also,  to  praise  M.  Collot,  chief  of 
battalion  of  the  National  Guard,  who  was  charged 
with  the  military  service  of  her  apartment.  One 
day  an  oflicer  on  duty  there  spoke  unjustly  of  the 
Queen.  M.  Collot  wished  to  inform  M.  de  Lafayette 
and  have  him  punished;  but  Marie  Antoinette  op- 
posed this  with  her  usual  kindliness,  and  said  a  few 
judicious  and  good-tempered  words  to  the  culprit. 
He  was  converted  in  an  instant,  and  became  one 
of  her  most  devoted  partisans. 

The  royal  family  endured  their  captivity  with 
admirable  sweetness  and  resignation,  and  concerned 
themselves  less  about  their  own  fate  than  that  of  the 
persons  compromised  by  the  Varennes  journey,  who 


THE  CAPTIVITY  IN   THE  TUILERIES.  227 

were  now  incarcerated.  Louis  XVI.,  instead  of  in- 
dulging in  recriminations  against  men  and  things, 
offered  his  humiliations  and  sufferings  to  God.  He 
prayed,  he  read,  he  meditated.  Next  to  his  prayer- 
book  his  favorite  reading  was  the  life  of  Cliarles  T., 
eitlier  because  he  sought,  in  studying  history,  to  find 
a  way  of  escaping  an  end  like  that  of  the  unfortunate 
monarch,  or  because  an  analogy  of  sorrows  and  disas- 
ters had  established  a  profound  and  mysterious  sym- 
pathy between  the  king  who  had  been  beheaded  and 
the  king  who  was  soon  to  be  so. 

The  sister  of  Louis  XVI.  was  like  a  good  angel 
near  him.  Gentler,  more  pious,  more  resigned  than 
ever,  she  possessed  that  supreme  energy  which  comes 
from  a  good  conscience  and  a  fearless  heart.  July  4, 
she  wrote  to  the  Count  de  Provence,  the  future 
Louis  XVIII. ,  who,  having  taken  refuge  abroad,  was 
out  of  danger :  "  Heaven  had  its  own  designs  in  pre- 
serving you.  God  at  least  wills  your  salvation.  That 
is  what  I  most  desire.  You  know  whether  my  heart 
is  sincere  Avhen  it  wishes  for  your  eternal  welfare 
before  all  things  else.  We  are  well,  and  we  love 
you ;  but  I  count  myself  chief  in  that  respect.  .  .  . 
Never  think  lightly  of  those  whom  the  hand  of  God 
has  stricken  hard,  but  to  whom  He  will  give,  I  hope, 
the  means  to  endure  the  trial.  I  embrace  you  with 
all  my  heart." 

July  23,  Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  to  Madame  de 
Raigecourt :  "  I  am  still  a  little  stunned  by  the  vio- 
lent shock  we  have   experienced.     I  should   need  a 


228  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

few  tranquil  days,  far  away  from  the  bustle  of  Paris, 
to  restore  me  to  myself.  But  as  God  does  not  permit 
that,  I  hope  He  will  make  it  up  to  me  in  some  other 
way.  Ah,  my  heart !  happy  is  the  man  who,  holding 
his  soul  always  in  his  hands,  sees  nothing  but  God 
and  eternity,  and  has  no  other  aim  than  to  make  the 
evils  of  this  world  conduce  to  the  gloiy  of  God,  and 
to  profit  by  them,  in  order  to  enjoy  in  peace  an  eternal 
recompense." 

It  was  in  religion  that  the  saintly  Princess  ever 
found  strength,  hope,  and  consolation.  "  You  cannot 
imagine,"  she  wrote  to  the  Abb^  de  Lubersac,  July 
29,  "how  fervent  souls  redouble  their  zeal.  Perhaps 
Heaven  will  not  be  deaf  to  so  many  prayers,  offered 
with  so  much  confidence.  It  is  from  the  heart  of 
Jesus  that  they  seem  to  expect  the  grace  that  is 
needed.  The  fervor  of  this  devotion  seems  re- 
doubled." Madame  Elisabeth,  although  not  renounc- 
ing hope,  probably  comprehended  better  than  any  one 
the  extreme  gravity  of  the  situation.  She  had  written 
to  Madame  de  Bombelles  the  day  before  :  "I  dread 
the  moment  when  the  King  will  be  in  a  position  to 
act.  There  is  not  a  single  intelligent  man  here  in 
whom  we  can  have  confidence.  You  know  where  that 
will  lead  us  ;  I  shudder  at  it.  We  must  lift  our  hands 
to  heaven;  God  will  have  pity  on  us.  i^h,  how  I 
wish  that  others  beside  ourselves  would  join  in  the 
prayers  which  are  addressed  Him  by  all  the  religious 
communities  and  all  the  pious  souls  of  France  ! " 

The  sentiments  of   the   Queen  were  neither  less 


THE  CAPTIVITY  IN   THE  TUILERIES.         229 

touching  nor  less  lofty  than  those  of  her  sister-in-law. 
Marie  Antoinette  devoted  a  part  of  every  day  to  the 
education  of  her  children  and  that  of  an  orphan 
named  Ernestine  Lambriquet,  Avhose  mother  had  been 
one  of  Madame  Royale's  servants.  The  hapless  sov- 
ereign adduced  herself  as  an  example  of  the  insta- 
bility of  worldly  grandeur.  She  taught  her  pupils 
to  deprive  themselves  voluntarily,  every  month,  of 
part  of  the  money  intended  for  their  pleasures,  in 
order  to  give  it  to  the  poor ;  and  the  children,  worthy 
of  their  mother,  considered  this  privation  as  a  hap- 
piness. Marie  Antoinette  bore  her  griefs  with  a 
courage  which  was  all  the  more  meritorious,  because 
the  emotions  of  the  fatal  Varennes  journey  had  made 
her  suffer  immensely  in  body,  and  still  more  in  mind. 
Madame  Campan,  who  had  been  away  from  her  sev- 
eral weeks,  and  returned  in  August,  describes  her 
thus  :  "  I  found  her  getting  out  of  bed.  Her  counte- 
nance was  not  extremelv  altered ;  but  after  the  first 
kind  words  she  addressed  to  me,  she  took  off  her  cap, 
and  told  me  to  see  what  effect  grief  had  produced  on 
her  hair.  In  a  single  night  it  had  become  as  white 
as  that  of  a  woman  of  seventy.  Her  Majesty  showed 
me  a  ring  which  she  had  just  had  made  for  the  Prin- 
cess de  Lamballe.  It  was  a  sheaf  of  her  white  hair, 
with  this  inscription  :  '  Whitened  by  misfortune.'  " 

Alas!  the  Queen  of  France  and  Navarre  is  no  longer 
the  dazzling  sovereign  who  triumphed  like  a  goddess. 
She  is  no  longer  the  radiant  Juno  of  the  royal 
Olympus,  the  superb  beauty  whose  charm  is  equalled 


230  31  ABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

only  by  her  prestige.  She  is  no  longer  followed  by  a 
train  of  adorers,  who  fall  into  raptures  as  she  passes 
by.  No  one  celebrates  the  splendor  of  her  royal 
person,  the  luxury  of  her  toilets,  the  sparkle  of  her 
jewels  and  her  diadem.  No.  But  in  this  palace  which 
is  now  only  a  prison,  in  this  captivity  full  of  anguish 
and  of  tears,  there  is  something  venerable,  august, 
sacred ;  something  which  is  graver,  more  imposing, 
and  more  majestic  than  supreme  power :  it  is  sorrow. 
Ah !  now  is  the  moment  when  souls  truly  chivalrous 
can  and  ought  to  devote  themselves  to  this  woman. 
This  is  the  hour  when  her  courtiers  honor  themselves 
more  than  they  honor  her.  O  Queen !  you  are  per- 
secuted. For  you  the  Hosannas  are  changed  into 
Crucijicatur  !  Under  the  very  windows  of  your  palace 
you  are  calumniated,  threatened,  insulted.  Hither, 
then,  ye  courtiers  of  misfortune !  Hasten,  one  and 
all !  Here  ymir  zeal  will  be  well  placed.  Here  no 
one  comes  to  seek  favors,  money,  earthly  goods. 
Here  there  is  peril,  sacrifice,  and  death.  Come !  the 
Queen  will  honor  you.  She  will  write  your  name  in 
the  golden  book  of  the  faithful.  Come  I  the  cloud 
which  overshadows  her  beautiful  forehead  renders  it 
still  more  noble.  Her  glances  are  less  animated  than 
of  old,  but  they  are  more  affecting.  There  is  some- 
thing austere  and  melancholy  in  her  whole  aspect 
now,  which  even  the  most  ardent  revolutionists  can- 
not contemplate  too  closely  without  profound  and 
inexpressible  emotion.  Come  all !  and  if  you  feel  no 
pity  for  the  Queen,  you  will  bend  before  the  woman, 
before  the  wife,  before  the  mother. 


II. 


PARIS   DURING   THE   SUSPENSION   OF   ROYALTY. 

UNTIL  further  orders,  Louis  XVL  is  a  dispos- 
sessed sovereign.  During  this  interregnum 
Paris  presents  all  manner  of  contrasts.  It  is  a 
medley  of  optimism  and  sinister  previsions,  of  mo- 
narchical relics  and  republican  germs.  According  to 
some,  all  evil  is  at  an  end  and  good  has  begun ;  the 
age  of  gold  is  following  the  age  of  iron ;  order  and 
liberty  are  united  forever.  According  to  others,  a 
series  of  terrific  tempests  is  setting  in.  Behold !  say 
the}^  what  black  clouds  hang  on  the  horizon :  riot, 
revolution,  famine,  religious  war,  civil  war,  foreign 
war,  invasion,  dismemberment,  calamities  of  every 
kind.  Meanwhile  there  is  contention  everywhere. 
On  this  side  the  Jacobins,  more  revolutionary  than 
the  Revolution  itself ;  on  that,  the  conservatives, 
more  roj'-alist  than  the  King.  Lack  of  discipline  in 
the  army ;  schism  in  religion ;  in  the  salons,  no  less 
than  in  the  public  resorts,  quarrelling,  hatred,  in- 
vective. At  the  theatres  every  play  gives  rise  to 
allusions  and  conflicts :  at  the  Frangais  the  Saint 
Bartholomew  scenes  of  Joseph  Ch^nier's  Charles  IX. 

231 


232  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


carry  public  fury  even  to  convulsions ;  at  the  Opera, 
the  royalists  enthusiastically  applaud,  while  the  re- 
publicans hiss  with  rage,  this  line  from  Castor  et 
Pollux :  — 

"  Reign  over  a  faithful  people  " ; 

at  the  Nation,  Atlialie  with  Gossec's  choruses,  the 
partisans  of  throne  and  altar  growing  ecstatic  over 
the  monarchical  passages  of  Racine's  masterpiece,  and 
the  revolutionists  applying  to  Marie  Antoinette  the 
anathemas  against  the  daughter  of  Jezebel.  In  every 
street  and  square  are  gatherings,  seditious  propositions, 
public  criers,  who  hawk  about  calumny  and  lies;  in 
the  galleries  of  the  Palais  Royal,  the  abode  of  anarchy 
and  debauch,  the  ever-increasing  and  impure  stream 
of  ruffians  and  prostitutes ;  in  the  journals  a  torrent 
of  diatribes,  an  avalanche  of  false  news,  a  deluge  of 
infamies.  It  is  Camille  Desmoulins  who  says:  "Now- 
adays, journalists  exercise  the  public  ministry.  They 
denounce,  decree,  absolve,  or  condemn  daily ;  they 
ascend  the  orator's  tribune,  and  there  are  stentorian 
lungs  among  them  which  make  themselves  heard 
by  the  eighty-three  departments.  The  journals  rain 
every  morning  like  manna  from  heaven,  and  fifty 
sheets  come  like  the  sun  every  day  to  light  up  the 
horizon." 

The  press  is  furious,  insane.  In  order  to  get 
readers  it  must  dip  its  pen  in  vitriol  and  filth,  before 
dipping  it  in  blood.  Wisdom,  decorum,  moderation, 
what  chimeras  are  those !     We  are  not  in  the  Acad- 


rAlilS  DUE  IN  G   SUSPENSION    OF  ROYALTY.      233 

emy.  We  are  in  the  fish-market,  at  the  cross-roads, 
in  the  kennels.  What  pleases  is  obscene  language, 
the  ribaldry  of  clowns  at  the  fair,  mean  and  cruel 
jests,  and  the  savage  cries  of  cannibals.  Violence, 
rage,  and  frenzy  are  the  fashion.  Carra,  in  the 
Annales  j^atriotiques ;  Freron,  in  the  Orateur  du 
peuple  ;  Camille  Desmoulins,  in  the  Revolutions  de 
France  et  de  Brahant ;  Condorcet,  in  the  Clironique 
de  Paris  ;  Fauchet,  in  the  Bouclie  de  fer;  j\Iarat,  in 
the  Ami  du  peuple  ;  Brissot,  in  the  Patriot e  fran^ais; 
Laclos,  author  of  the  Liaisons  dangereuses^  in  the 
Journal  des  Jacobins,  contend  with  each  other  w^hich 
shall  bawl  longest  and  loudest.  What  agitations, 
what  follies,  what  unhealthy  ambitions,  what  ridicu- 
lous vanities,  what  stupid  or  criminal  chimeras  there 
are  in  this  ant-hill,  which  sooner  or  later  the  heel  of 
a  despot  will  trample  down. 

Lafayette  is  no  better  treated  than  Louis  XVI. 
Camille  Desmoulins  thus  apostrophizes  the  famous 
general :  "  Liberator  of  two  worlds,  flower  of  janiza- 
ries, phoenix  of  chief-constables,  Don  Quixote  of  Capet 
and  the  two  Chambers,  constellation  of  the  white 
horse,  my  voice  is  too  feeble  to  rise  above  the  clamor 
of  your  thirty  thousand  spies  and  the  noise  of  your 
four  hundred  drums."  The  same  journalist  calls  the 
King,  "  Our  crowned  Sancho  Panza."  Paid  colpor- 
teurs distributed  in  public  places  the  pamphlet  enti- 
tled: Grand  jugement  rendu  par  le  peuple  contre 
Louis  XVI.  "  O  da}^  of  triumph  !  "  is  said  in  it,  "  O 
Frenchmen,  how  happy  you  are !      The  perjurer  is 


234  MAEIE  ANTOINETTE. 


arrested.  Frenclimen,  this  fall  sliould  be  an  example 
to  you.  The  traitor  Louis  should  suffer  his  punish- 
ment." The  Bouche  de  fer  thus  expresses  itself: 
"  There  is  no  room  for  deliberation  ;  the  free  people, 
the  sovereign  people,  have  put  their  hats  on  while 
looking  contemptuously  at  the  ci-devant  King.  Be- 
hold at  last  a  plebiscite ;  the  Republic  is  sanctioned." 

Every  possible  means  of  making  the  King  odious 
and  ridiculous  is  sought  for.  He  is  represented  in 
caricatures  with  the  body  of  a  swine  and  the  forehead 
of  a  ram.  If  the  Orleanists  and  republicans  are  to 
be  believed,  he  has  lost  his  reason.  He  demands 
post-horses,  he  wants  to  put  himself  at  the  head  of 
his  troops  and  fight  his  enemies ;  at  another  moment 
he  proposes  to  abdicate ;  the  next  instant  he  gets  into 
a  rage,  seizes  stools  and  throws  at  the  mirrors  in  his 
apartment,  and  breaks  the  china  vases.  These  stupid 
fables  are  repeated  all  over  Paris.  The  people  have 
lost  completely  all  sentiment  of  respect. 

Even  the  churches  are  no  longer  places  of  consola- 
tion. There  is  discord  there  as  elsewhere.  In  the 
eyes  of  the  faithful,  the  constitutional  priests  who 
officiate  are  apostates  and  intruders.  Each  religious 
ceremony  celebrated  by  them  is  a  profanation,  a  sac- 
rilege. The  Pope  has  struck  the  ecclesiastical  rebels 
with  his  thunderbolts.  It  is  the  abomination  of  deso- 
lation. The  pious  people  who  still  enter  the  churches, 
shudder  there  with  grief  and  sacred  anger. 

At  the  National  Assembly  the  discussions  become 
more  and  more  tumultuous.     Republican  sentiment 


PARIS  DURING   SUSPENSION   OF  ROYALTY.      235 

no  longer  hides  itself ;  Robespierre  is  the  idol  of  the 
day.  "  That  man  bears  me  great  ill  will,"  says  Louis 
XVI. ;  "  for  me,  I  bear  him  none ;  for  I  do  not  know 
him."  The  party  of  order  might  confide  in  Barnave, 
Duport,  and  Malouet,  and  with  their  aid  modify  the 
Constitution  on  monarchical  principles.  But  the 
members  of  the  Right  are  not  willing  to  do  this.  In 
their  view,  to  recognize  the  Constitution,  even  by 
correcting  it,  would  be  to  sanction  revolt.  To  join 
hands  with  the  seditious  would  be  to  become  seditious 
themselves.  ''  Our  hopes,"  say  they,  "  have  not  fallen 
so  low  that  we  see  nothing  left  but  to  accept  a  part 
in  a  comedy  of  frightened  revolutionists.  No  con- 
cessions, no  transactions.  Good  will  spring  from  the 
excess  of  evil.  The  trial  must  be  made,  and  made 
thoroughly,  so  that  the  democrats  may  display  the 
full  extent  of  their  rascality  and  folly  !  "  Developing 
this  thesis,  which  is  the  excuse  alleged  by  all  com- 
promised causes  when  it  is  sought  to  justify  their 
inaction  and  their  decay,  the  royalists  systematically 
abstain  from  voting ;  they  sulk,  they  give  a  paltry, 
impotent,  and  peevish  character  to  their  opposition. 

Paris  has  become  a  pandemonium.  What  moder- 
ate man  could  make  himself  heard  in  the  midst  of 
such  a  howding  storm  ?  It  would  need  the  trump  of 
the  last  judgment  to  drown  this  noise,  to  dominate 
this  tumult.  Who,  then,  could  have  the  audacity  to 
seize  the  helm?  Who  would  have  sufficient  moral 
and  material  force  to  inspire  the  passengers  with  con- 
fidence and  restore   discipline   among  the   mutinous 


236  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

crew?  There  is  no  pilot.  The  vessel  is  about  to  go 
to  pieces  on  the  reefs.  The  sky  is  furrowed  w^ith 
lightning. 

The  month  of  July,  1791,  did  not  fail  to  please 
people  thirsting  after  spectacles  and  emotions :  the 
12th,  the  removal  of  Voltaire's  remains ;  the  14th, 
the  Fete  of  the  Federation  in  the  Champ-de-Mars; 
the  17th,  a  riot  where  blood  flowed  in  torrents:  cer- 
tainly a  well-filled  month ! 

Rejoice,  free-thinkers !  Behold  the  triumph  of 
philosophy,  the  apotheosis  of  your  patriarch  of  Fer- 
ney!  When  he  died,  his  body  was  taken  by  his 
nephew,  furtively  and  by  night,  to  the  church  of  the 
Abbey  of  Sellieres,  in  Champagne.  But  now  the 
city  of  Paris  desires  that  the  illustrious  dead  shall  be 
placed  in  the  Pantheon,  that  cathedral  of  philoso- 
phers. The  revolutionists  burn  incense  to  Voltaire, 
who  was  the  sworn  enemy  of  the  Revolution;  to 
Voltaire,  the  guest  of  all  great  nobles,  the  courtier 
of  all  kings.  The  procession  starts  from  the  Place 
de  la  Bastille.  The  coffin  is  raised  up  so  that  the 
crowd  can  see  it,  and  the  pedestal  for  it  is  built  of 
stones  torn  from  the  foundations  of  the  fortress  of 
the  old  regime.  On  one  of  the  stones  the  following 
inscription  was  engraved:  "Receive,  in  this  place 
whither  thou  wert  dragged  by  despotism,  the  honors 
thy  country  decrees  to  thee." 

Forty  market  porters,  vested  in  white  albs,  their 
arms  bare,  and  their  heads  crowned  with  laurels, 
represent  the  ancient  poets,  and  carry  on  a  stretcher 


PARIS  DURING   SUSPENSION   OF  ROYALTY.      237 

a  statue  of  the  demigod  in  gilt  pasteboard.  A  golden 
casket  in  the  form  of  an  ark  contains  the  seventy  vol- 
umes of  his  works.  The  coffin  is  placed  on  a  car 
drawn  by  twelve  white  horses,  whose  manes  and 
bridle  reins  are  braided  with  flowers.  Porters  cos- 
tumed as  priests  of  Apollo,  and  harlots  in  more  or 
less  dingy  robes,  figuring  as  nymphs  and  muses,  sur- 
round the  car.  All  the  actors  and  actresses  of  Paris 
walk  behind  it.  It  halts  before  the  principal  thea- 
tres and  the  house  of  M.  de  Villette,  Avhere  Voltaire 
died,  and  where  his  heart  is  preserved.  Wreaths  and 
garlands  ornament  the  fagade  on  which  is  the  inscrip- 
tion :  "  His  mind  is  everywhere,  and  his  heart  is 
here." 

The  Theatre  Frangais  has  converted  its  peristyle 
into  a  triumphal  arch.  A  statue  of  the  author  of 
Merope  is  erected  there.  On  its  pedestal  one  reads : 
^'  He  wrote  Irene  when  he  was  eighty-three ;  at  seven- 
teen he  wrote  (Edipey  Notwithstanding  the  eager- 
ness of  the  crowd,  this  mythological  and  pagan  pomp, 
this  funeral  ceremony  without  a  cross,  without  priests, 
and  without  prayers,  excited  nothing  but  curiosity. 
These  strange  white-robed  priestesses,  these  would- 
be  vestals,  whose  mission  it  is  to  keep  alive  the 
sacred  fu^e  of  poesy,  create  a  smile.  It  is  not  an 
easy  thing  to  accord  to  a  man,  without  becoming 
ridiculous,  the  honors  due  to  God  alone.  Do  what 
you  can,  say  what  you  will,  the  Voltaire  cult  will 
never  be  a  religion. 

A  pouring  rain  suddenly  disturbs  the  procession. 


238  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Poets,  muses,  nymphs,  municipal  officers,  all  run  to 
seek  a  shelter.  The  ceremony  is  not  over  until  half- 
past  ten  at  night.  The  body  is  deposited  in  the 
Pantheon  between  those  of  Descartes  and  Mirabeau. 
The  royalists  complain  because  a  public  fete  has 
been  celebrated  while  the  King  and  his  family  are 
captives  in  the  Tuileries.  Charitable  persons  regret 
the  sums  expended  on  a  theatrical  display  while  the 
people  lack  bread.  All  those  who  figured  in  the 
procession  are  tired  out  and  covered  with  mud.  The 
rain  has  chilled  enthusiasm.  The  gilt  pasteboard  of 
the  statue  is  soaked  into  fragments.  To-morrow  no 
one  will  give  another  thought  to  the  patriarch  of 
Ferney.     Sic  transit  gloria  mundi  ! 

Two  days  after  the  translation  of  Voltaire's  remains 
comes  the  Fete  of  the  Federation  in  the  Champ-de- 
Mars.  The  sequestrated  royal  family  is  not  present. 
The  optimism  and  the  illusions  of  the  preceding  year 
are  already  long  gone  by.  People  perceive  that  the 
age  of  gold  is  not  quite  so  near  as  they  supposed. 
The  acclamations  are  less  enthusiastic ;  the  blare  of 
the  trumpets  wakes  different  echoes. 

The  epilogue  of  the  fete  of  July  14  is  the  bloody 
scene  of  July  17.  Men's  minds  are  too  excited.  An 
address  to  Frenchmen,  signed  by  Achille  du  Chate- 
let,  afterwards  colonel  of  a  regiment  of  chasseurs, 
had  been  placarded  on  all  the  walls  of  Paris,  and 
even  in  the  corridors  of  the  National  Assembly. 
"  Citizens,"  it  is  said  in  this  address,  "  the  perfect 
tranquillity,  the  mutual    confidence  which   reigned 


PARIS  DUBING   SUSPENSION   OF  EOYALTV.      239 

among  us  during  the  flight  of  the  ci-devant  King, 
and  the  profound  indifference  with  which  we  saw 
him  brought  back,  are  unequivocal  signs  that  the 
absence  of  a  king  is  better  than  his  presence,  and 
that  he  is  not  merely  a  superfluity,  but  an  over- 
heavy  burden  which  weighs  down  the  whole  nation. 
The  history  of  France  presents  nothing  but  a  long 
succession  of  the  sufferings  of  the  people,  the  cause 
of  which  may  always  be  traced  back  to  the  Kings. 
We  have  not  ceased  to  suffer  for  them  and  by  them. 
The  catalogue  of  theu^  oppressions  was  full.  But 
to  their  crimes  treason  alone  was  lacking.  To-day 
nothing  is  lacking ;  the  measure  is  complete  ;  there 
is  no  crime  remaining  to  be  committed.  Their  reign 
is  ended.  ...  As  to  the  individual  safety  of  M. 
Louis  Bourbon,  it  is  all  the  more  assured,  seeing  that 
France  will  not  dishonor  itself  by  resentment  against 
a  man  who  has  accomplished  his  own  dishonor." 

The  Orleanists  and  the  Jacobins  unite.  In  a  peti- 
tion in  which  it  is  declared  that  "  it  is  as  contrary  to 
the  majesty  of  the  outraged  nation  as  it  is  to  its  inter- 
ests, ever  again  to  confide  the  reins  of  empire  to  a 
perjured,  traitorous,  and  fugitive  man."  Brissot  and 
Laclos  demand  another  king.  The  petition  is  posted 
on  all  the  walls.  Public  notification  is  ofiven  that  all 
those  who  wish  to  sign  the  original  go  to  the  Champ- 
de-Mars,  where  it  lies  on  the  Altar  of  the  Country, 
left  standing  since  the  Fete  of  the  14th.  Sunday, 
July  17,  is  fixed  for  these  signatures.  The  advocates 
of  the  deposition  arrive  in  crowds  at  the  Champ-de- 


240  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Mars  at  three  in  the  afternoon;  but  Lafayette  and 
Bailly  oppose  the  manifestation.  The  municipality 
has  decided  to  display  the  red  flag  and  proclaim  mar- 
tial law.  The  rioters  shout :  "  Down  with  the  red 
flag  I  down  with  the  bayonets ! "  A  hail  of  stones 
follows  these  vociferations.  The  National  Guards 
fire  several  times  in  the  air.  Some  of  the  people  take 
to  flight.  But  the  leaders,  recovering  from  their 
first  fright,  on  seeing  that  no  one  is  wounded  rally 
the  flying.  They  begin  to  throw  stones  again.  La- 
fayette orders  a  second  discharge,  which  this  time 
is  real.  The  ground  is  covered  with  dead  bodies. 
From  the  Champ-de-Mars  the  panic  spreads  in  every 
direction.  Parisians  who  are  taking  the  air  in  the 
Champs  Elysees  are  appalled.  If  Lafayette  chose,  it 
would  be  all  up  with  republican  outbreaks  for  a  long 
time.  The  demagogues  think  they  are  lost.  They 
tremble.  But  the  next  day  they  are  permitted  to  raise 
their  heads ;  their  journals  reappear.  They  return 
tranquilly  to  their  clubs.  Reassured  by  the  hesitation 
of  their  adversaries,  they  requite  it  by  audacity,  and 
the  Revolution  goes  on  its  way. 

There  are  many  who  are  deeply  afllicted  by  these 
scandals  and  troubles.  But  the  greater  number  find 
a  sort  of  pleasure  in  them.  This  perpetual  agitation, 
this  political  fury,  these  violent  emotions,  these 
shocks,  these  unforeseen  and  rapid  crises  which  suc- 
ceed each  other  like  so  many  scenes  in  a  melodrama, 
please  many  persons  greatly.  They  have  become  so 
accustomed  to  fever  that  they  do  not  desire  health. 


PAEIS  UURING   SUSPENSION   OF  BOYALTY.      241 

Repose  would  weary  minds  so  eager  after  exciting 
scenes.  They  are  interested  in  parliamentary  conten- 
tions as  Spaniards  are  in  bull  figlits.  It  is  the  same 
effervescence,  the  same  shouts,  the  same  tumult.  It  is 
all  the  more  agreeable  to  them  to  see  the  giants  falling, 
because,  in  former  days,  they  could  only  be  looked  at 
kneeling.  The  instinct  of  equality  finds  satisfaction 
in  the  levelling  of  the  throne.  The  sufferings  of  roy- 
alty, of  the  clergy,  and  of  the  nobility  are  the  delights 
of  the  common  people.  Honest  citizens  and  National 
Guards  rejoice  in  the  lessons  administered  to  power, 
and  the  future  Septembrists  already  scent  an  odor  of 
blood  in  the  air. 


III. 

THE  EMIGRATION. 

WE  have  just  looked  at  Paris.  Now  let  us  cast 
a  rapid  glance  at  foreign  parts. 

The  tidings  of  the  flight  of  the  King  and  his  family 
had  awakened  delirious  joy  abroad.  The  emigres 
began  to  entertain  the  most  flattering  hopes.  They 
felicitated,  they  embraced  each  other.  At  Brussels 
great  entertainments  were  preparing  in  expectation 
of  the  courier  who  should  announce  that  Louis  XVI. 
had  happily  crossed  the  frontier.  The  disaster  at 
Varennes  came  to  chill  this  overflow  of  joy. 

The  emigration  which,  thus  far,  had  not  been  very 
extensive,  now  became  almost  general  among  the 
nobility,  the  clergy,  and  even  the  upper  middle  class. 
In  Paris  and  the  chief  provincial  cities,  committees 
were  appointed  to  facilitate  this  universal  flight. 
Wild  enthusiasts  urged  the  nobles  to  abandon  their 
families  and  their  estates,  and  fly  like  exiles  to  a 
foreign  country.  It  was  a  grand  mistake  ;  the  place 
for  the  nobility  was  beside  the  King,  not  elsewhere. 
That  a  loyal  aristocracy  should  follow  an  exiled 
sovereign  is  comprehensible ;  but  that  it  should 
242 


THE  EMIGRATION.  243 


abandon  him  to  the  gravest  perils  in  his  own  domin- 
ions, and  go  wandering  from  court  to  court  instead 
of  remaining  where  it  belongs  and  playing  a  national 
part,  seems  inadmissible.  If  the  emigres  had  em- 
ployed at  home  half  the  energy  and  the  efforts  which 
they  fruitlessly  employed  abroad,  the  throne  would 
have  been  saved.  But  passion  does  not  reason.  It 
is  only  a  question  of  a  little  trip  to  the  borders  of  the 
Khine,  said  they.  In  five  or  six  weeks  w^e  shall  come 
back  triumphant.  All  one  has  to  do  is  to  show  his 
crest,  a  white  handkerchief,  the  Prince  of  Conde's 
boot,  and  six  francs'  worth  of  cord  to  hang  the  revo- 
lutionary chiefs  with. 

Exasperated  by  the  failure  of  the  Yarennes  jour- 
ney, the  Marquis  de  Bouille  anathematized  the 
National  Assembl}^  A  new  Coriolanus,  he  threat- 
ened his  country  with  the  thunderbolts  of  his  wrath 
and  vengeance.  He  wrote  a  letter  from  Luxembourg 
to  the  Assembly.  "  The  King,"  he  says  in  it,  "  has 
just  made  an  effort  to  break  the  chains  in  wdiich  you 
have  so  long  detained  him  and  his  unfortunate  family. 
But  a  blind  destiny  wdiich  governs  empires,  and 
against  which  human  prudence  avails  nothing,  has 
determined  otherwise.  He  is  still  your  prisoner.  His 
life  and  that  of  his  Queen  are  —  I  shudder  at  the 
thought  —  at  the  mercy  of  a  people  wdiom  you  have 
rendered  ferocious  and  sanguinary,  and  wdio  have 
become  an  object  of  scorn  to  the  universe."  The 
irascible  general  thus  accentuates  his  threat :  "  I 
know  better  than  any  one  what  means  of  defence  you 


24J:  2IARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

have  at  command;  they  amount  to  nothmg.  Your 
chastisement  will  serve  as  an  example  to  posterity. 
.  .  .  You  will  answer  for  the  safety  of  the  King  and 
his  family,  I  do  not  say  to  me,  but  to  all  kings,  and  I 
declare  to  you,  that  if  a  single  hair  of  his  head  is 
touched,  not  one  stone  of  Paris  will  be  left  upon 
another.  I  know  the  roads ;  I  will  drive  invading 
armies  through  them.  This  letter  is  but  the  herald 
of  the  manifesto  of  all  European  sovereigns.  They 
will  teach  you,  in  more  emphatic  style,  what  you 
have  to  do  and  what  you  have  to  fear.  Adieu, 
gentlemen ;  I  end  without  compliments.  My  senti- 
ments are  known  to  you." 

During  this  time  the  King's  two  brothers,  the 
future  Louis  XVIII.  and  the  future  Charles  X.,  were 
seeking  to  form  a  European  coalition  against  the 
Revolution.  Their  uncle  Louis  Wenceslas,  Elector 
of  Treves,  had  received  them  at  Coblentz  with  cordial 
hospitality.  Coblentz  was  at  this  time  the  Paris  of 
Germany.  The  head  of  the  house  of  Cond^  organ- 
ized there  the  staffs  of  the  Princes'  army ;  plenty  of 
officers,  no  soldiers  ;  a  head,  but  a  head  separated  from 
the  trunk.  Calonne  had  the  administration  of  finances, 
which  was  very  like  a  sinecure.  Marslial  de  Brogiie 
was  Minister  of  War.  They  allotted  all  the  offices  of 
State  in  advance,  as  Pompey's  Roman  knights  did 
on  the  eve  of  Pharsalia. 

The  hero  of  the  emigration  was  the  King  of 
Sweden,  whose  portrait  has  been  so  well  drawn  by 
M.  Geffroy  in  his  admirable  work,  Grustave  III.  et  la 


THE  EMIGRATION.  245 

co2ir  de  France.  On  his  arrival  at  Aix-la-ChajDelle, 
Gustavus  did  not  wholly  share  the  illusions  of  the 
French  emigres.  June  16,  1791,  he  wrote :  "  I 
have  found  here  nearly  all  the  chief  nobility  of 
France.  These  illustrious  exiles  form  a  very  agree- 
able society.  They  are  all  animated  with  equal  hatred 
against  the  National  Assembly,  and  have,  besides, 
such  exaggerated  notions  on  all  subjects  as  you  can 
form  no  idea  of.  It  is  really  both  sad  and  curious  to 
listen  to  and  observe  them."  But  the  Swedish  mon- 
arch soon  felt  the  influence  of  his  environment.  The 
imprisonment  of  Louis  XVI.  in  the  Tuileries  made 
him  indignant. 

Very  proud  of  the  golden  sword  INIarie  Antoinette 
had  sent  him,  with  this  device.  For  the  defence  of 
the  oppressed.,  the  King  of  Sweden  held  court  at  Aix- 
la-Chapelle,  with  Fersen,  d'Escar,  Breteuil,  Calonne, 
M.  and  Madame  de  Saint  Priest,  the  jNIarquis  de 
Bouille,  and  Mesdames  d'Harcourt,  de  Croy,  and  de 
Lamballe. 

Of  a  bold  and  chivalrous  spirit,  fond  of  adventure, 
and  burning  with  the  desire  to  attract  public  atten- 
tion and  make  himself  talked  about  by  kings  and 
peoples,  Gustavus  became  intoxicated  with  the  self- 
seeking  flatteries  with  which  the  French  nobles  plied 
him.  To  them  he  was  not  merely  a  paladin  and  a 
protector,  but  a  host.  Three  times  a  week  he  invited 
a  hundred  of  the  emigres  to  dinner,  —  a  courtesy 
particularl}^  welcome  to  gentlemen  whom  the  lack 
of  money  sometimes  reduced  to  a  diet  of  potatoes 


246  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

and  milk.  When  lie  walked  out,  he  was  met  by 
women  and  children  who  held  out  their  arms,  en- 
treating him  to  take  them  back  to  their  country.  His 
imagination  became  overheated.  He  said  proudly 
that  his  coiqo  cfetat  of  1791,  in  France,  would  not 
succeed  less  brilliantly  than  his  couj:)  d'etat  in  Sweden, 
in  1772.  He  admired  in  himself  the  champion  of 
crowns,  the  Godfrey  de  Bouillon  of  some  crusade 
on  behalf  of  authority  and  monarchy,  the  magnani- 
mous sovereign  who,  having  once  been  protected 
by  the  court  of  France,  was  now  going  to  pay  his 
debt  and  overpay  it.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he 
had  already  made  his  entry  into  Versailles ;  as  if  his 
valiant  troops,  with  music  and  waving  banners,  had 
encamped  proudly  upon  that  famous  Place  d'Armes, 
so  odiously  profaned  by  the  lamentable  scenes  of  the 
October  Days ;  as  if,  crowned  with  laurels,  like  the 
great  Conde,  he  had  ascended  the  marble  staircase 
amidst  acclamations,  and  that  the  uniforms  of  his 
Swedish  officers,  the  liberators  of  the  King  of  France 
and  Navarre,  were  repeating  themselves  in  the  daz- 
zling Gallery  of  the  Mirrors.  In  fact,  Gustavus  was 
the  almost  unique  subject  of  conversation  in  Germany, 
where  he  figured,  not  simply  as  the  defender  of  the 
Most  Christian  King,  but  as  that  of  all  the  princes  of 
the  Holy  Empire.  Open  the  Ahnanach  de  Grotha  for 
1791.  The  illustrations  are  devoted  almost  exclu- 
sively to  Sweden  and  its  sovereign.  He  carried  things 
with  a  high  hand  in  those  petty  German  courts  where 
a  perfume   of   feudalism  still  lingered  and  the   old 


THE  EMIGRATION.  247 

rdgime  hedged  itself  about  with  all  the  trappings 
of  absolutism  in  miniature.  He  returned  to  Stock- 
holm at  the  beginning  of  August,  1791,  and  when 
holding  a  grand  review  there,  said  he  was  rehearsing 
his  future  solemn  entry  into  Paris. 

Meantime  the  emigration  is  redoubling  its  activity. 
It  knocks  at  every  door;  it  turns  its  steps  toward 
every  capital.  A  periodical  published  at  Coblentz 
under  the  title.  Journal  de  la  Contre-Me  volution^  seri- 
ously maintains  that  two  millions  of  men  are  advanc- 
ing to  the  assistance  of  the  emigres.  If  any  one 
ventures  to  express  a  doubt  about  it,  tlie  initiated 
whisper  in  confidence  that  the  troops  only  march  by 
night,  so  as  to  take  the  democrats  more  readily  by 
surprise.  How  active  these  nobles  are,  so  brilliant, 
brave,  and  witty,  yet  so  frivolous  and  vain,  who 
turn  all  things  into  jest,  and  who,  seeing  France 
only  from  a  distance,  see  it  badly  and  make  boasts  to 
which  events  always  give  the  lie !  Let  us  follow  M. 
d'Escars  in  his  peregrinations  among  the  petty  prince- 
doms of  Germany,  where  he  finds  Versailles  and  the 
(Eil-de-Boeuf  again,  seen  through  the  big  end  of  the 
lorgnette.  How  he  enjoyed  himself  at  the  court  of 
the  Cardinal  Prince-Bishop  of  Passau  !  "  Come,  Mon- 
seigneur,"  he  said  to  him,  "  the  Opera  yesterday ;  to- 
day a  ball.  Who  could  deny  himself  such  an  easy 
life  ?  .  .  .  Hardly  had  the  Cardinal  and  I  taken  our 
places  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  when  the  waltzing  began 
with  a  swiftness,  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  seen 
except  there  and  at  Vienna.     Each  lady,  after  receiv- 


248  '  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

ing  a  favor  and  a  compliment  from  His  Eminence, 
continued  her  waltz.  It  was  with  a  heart  penetrated 
with  gratitude  and  a  lively  regret  that  I  took  leave 
of  such  a  worthy  prelate." 

The  Prince  de  Cond^,  the  Comte  d'Artois,  and  the 
Comte  de  Provence  has  each  his  diplomacy  and  his 
court.  Negotiations  from  every  quarter  weave  in  and 
out  incessantly.  The  projected  coalition  elaborates 
itself  but  slowly.  The  lack  of  confidence  of  Louis 
XVI.  in  his  brothers,  the  rival  influences,  mutual 
jealousies,  and  conflicting  ambitions  of  the  larger 
courts ;  the  financial  embarrassments  of  the  King  of 
Sweden ;  the  difficulty  of  rousing  the  great  German 
people  to  shake  off  their  torpor ;  the  delays  and  hesi- 
tations of  England,  Catherine  II.,  the  Emperor,  and 
the  King  of  Prussia,  —  all  these  causes  combine  to 
retard  the  realization  of  the  wishes  of  the  Emigres. 
But  the  declaration  of  Pilnitz  comes  of  a  sudden  to 
revive  their  hopes.  After  that  they  think  success  is 
certain. 

On  August  25,  1791,  the  Emperor  Leopold  and 
Frederic  William  II.,  King  of  Prussia,  meet  at 
Pilnitz,  the  summer  residence  of  the  court  of  Sax- 
ony. Splendid  fetes  are  celebrated  in  their  honor. 
In  the  midst  of  a  banquet  the  unexpected  arrival  of 
the  brilliant  Comte  d'Artois  is  announced.  Accom- 
panied by  Calonne  and  the  Marquis  de  Bouille,  he 
comes  to  plead  what  he  calls  the  cause  of  thrones. 
By  force  of  persistence  he  attains  the  famous  decla- 
ration which,  signed  on  August  27,  1791,  was  the 


THE  EMIGRATION.  249 

cause  of  a  war  lasting  twenty-two  years.  It  is  thus 
expressed :  "  The  Emperor  and  the  King  of  Prussia, 
having  listened  to  the  desires  and  representations  of 
Monsieur  (the  Comte  de  Provence)  and  of  M.  the 
Comte  d'Artois,  jointly  declare  that  they  consider  the 
present  situation  of  the  King  of  France  as  a  subject 
of  common  interest  to  all  European  sovereigns.  They 
hope  that  this  interest  cannot  fail  to  be  acknowledged 
by  all  the  Powers  whose  aid  is  sought  for,  and  that, 
consequently,  they  will  not  refuse  to  employ,  con- 
jointly with  the  Emperor  and  the  King  of  Prussia, 
the  most  efficacious  means,  in  proportion  to  their 
ability,  to  put  the  King  of  France  in  a  condition  to 
consolidate,  in  perfect  freedom,  the  bases  of  a  mo- 
narchical government  equally  consistent  with  the 
rights  of  sovereigns  and  the  welfare  of  the  French 
people.  Then,  and  in  that  case,  the  aforesaid  Majes- 
ties have  decided  to  act  promptly  and  in  mutual 
accord  to  attain  the  proposed  and  common  end. 
Meanwhile  they  will  give  their  troops  the  neces- 
sary orders  so  that  they  may  be  in  readiness  for 
action." 

The  Emigres  are  beside  themselves  with  joy.  They 
triumph,  they  proclaim  victory.  To  listen  to  them, 
foreign  armies  are  about  to  invade  France  immedi- 
ately. There  will  be  fifty  thousand  Austrians  in 
Flanders,  forty  thousand  Swiss  and  as  mau}^  Pied- 
montese  in  Provence  and  Dauphiny,  fifty  thousand 
Prussians  on  the  Rhine ;  Russia  and  Sweden  w^ill 
send  their  fleets  under  command  of  M.  de   Nassau 


250  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

and  Gustavus  ITT.;  Holland  will  fnrnish  two  mil- 
lions ;  Spain  and  the  Two  Sicilies  will  join  the 
coalition.  France,  add  the  emigres,  is  no  longer  a 
military  power ;  its  army  is  without  officers,  its  fron- 
tier towns  defenceless,  its  arsenals  empty,  its  maga- 
zines nnprovisioned. 

Near  Louis  XVI.  there  is  a  woman  deeply  opposed 
to  the  Revolution,  and  sincerely  attached  to  the  old 
regime,  but  whose  sentiments,  nevertheless,  are  far 
more  French  than  this.  It  is  the  pious  and  cour- 
ageous Madame  Elisabeth.  August  5,  1791,  she 
wrote  to  Madame  de  Bombelles:  "People  retail  a 
thousand  scraps  of  news,  each  of  them  still  more 
foolish  than  the  others.  They  say  that  Russia,  Prus- 
sia, Sweden,  all  Germany,  Switzerland,  and  Sardinia 
are  to  fall  upon  us.  .  .  .  But  rest  easy,  my  Bombe  ; 
your  country  will  acquire  glory,  and  that  is  all. 
Three  hundred  thousand  National  Guards,  perfectly 
organized,  and  every  one  a  hero  by  nature,  line  the 
frontiers,  and  will  not  permit  a  single  Uhlan  to  come 
near.  The  malicious  say  that  near  Maubeuge  eight 
Uhlans  made  five  hundred  National  Guards,  with 
three  cannons,  beg  for  mercy.  We  must  let  them 
talk,  —  it  amuses  them ;  our  turn  will  come  to  mock 
at  them." 

As  to  Marie  Antoinette,  she  said  to  M.  Frangois 
Hue :  "  The  sudden  invasion  of  foreign  troops  would 
cause  inevitable  disorders.  The  King's  subjects,  both 
good  and  bad,  would  infallibly  suffer  by  it.  The 
assistance  of  foreigners,  no  matter  how  friendly  they 


THE  EMIGRATION.  251 


appear,  is  one  of  those  measures  wliich  a  wise  king 
should  not  employ  save  at  the  last  extremity."  But, 
alas!  there  were  moments  when  this  last  extremity 
seemed  inevitable  to  her.  She  spoke  of  the  ^mi- 
o-res  with  more  bitterness  than  confidence.  She 
complained  of  the  insubordination  of  the  King's  two 
brothers.  It  would  have  been  painful  to  Louis  XVI. 
to  feel  himself  indebted  to  them  for  the  restoration 
of  his  authority.  The  idea  of  a  regency  under  the 
Comte  de  Provence  seemed  to  him  an  attack  against 
the  rights  of  the  crown.  He  condemned  the  exag- 
gerations of  the  ^migr<^s,  more  royalist  than  the  King 
himself,  and  understood  better  than  any  one  the 
futility  and  frivolity  of  what  went  on  at  Coblentz. 
But  the  situation  was  becoming  so  serious,  the  revo- 
lutionary spirit  made  such  progress,  and  the  hapless 
sovereign  found  so  much  ill-will  and  ingratitude 
among  his  subjects,  that  he  often  cast  a  glance  across 
the  frontiers.  As  M.  de  Lamartine  has  said,  it  was 
not  the  King  who  conspired ;  it  was  the  man,  the  hus- 
band, and  the  father,  who  sought  the  aid  of  foreigners 
to  secure  the  safety  of  his  wife  and  children. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten,  moreover,  that  the 
national  idea  was  not  so  strongly  accentuated  then 
as  now.  Throughout  the  entire  history  of  France 
we  behold  sometimes  the  kings,  and  sometimes  their 
subjects,  invoking  without  shame  the  aid  of  foreign 
armies.  The  leaguers  called  in  Spanish  troops. 
Henri  IV.  conquered  his  realm  by  the  aid  of  Eng- 
lish troops.     Under  Louis  XIII.  the  Protestants  of 


252  3IARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Roclielle  were  England's  allies.  At  the  time  of  the 
Fronde,  the  great  Conde  fought  against  France  under 
the  standards  of  Spain.  After  the  revocation  of  the 
edict  of  Nantes  the  French  refugees  took  service  in 
the  Prussian  army.  The  English  in  America  had 
just  been  asking  for  French  assistance  against  their 
mother  country.  The  monarchical  and  religious  sen- 
timent took  precedence  of  the  national  sentiment 
among  the  nobility  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. The  idea  of  the  throne  and  the  altar  out- 
weighed that  of  country.  The  men  at  Coblentz  did 
not  consider  themselves  as  compatriots  of  the  Jaco- 
bins Avho  were  threatening  their  property,  their  honor, 
and  their  life.  Shall  we  not  see,  even  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  the  heroic  soldier  of  Valmy,  the 
future  Louis-Philippe,  asking  a  commission  from  the 
Spanish  Cortes,  in  the  hope  of  bearing  arms  against 
France  ? 


IV. 

ACCEPTANCE   OF   THE   CONSTITUTION. 

THE  acceptance  of  the  Constitution  was  like  a 
clear  spot  in  a  cloudy  sky,  though  a  very  brief 
and  not  very  luminous  one.  Marie  Antoinette  pre- 
tended to  revive  to  hope.  July  30,  1791,  she  wrote 
to  her  brother,  the  Emperor  Leopold,  that  the  influ- 
ential men  of  the  Assembly  had  pronounced  for  the 
re-establishment  of  the  royal  authority,  and  that 
everj^thing  seemed  tending  toward  the  termination  of 
disorder.  "  It  is  necessary,  therefore,"  she  added, 
"  that  nothing  shall  be  done  abroad  to  hinder  a  salu- 
tary tendency.  An  attempt  at  armed  intervention 
would  be  particularly,  and  from  all  points  of  view, 
to  be  (beaded."  But  next  day  the  Queen  thus  ex- 
pressed herself  in  her  correspondence  ^Yith.  Count 
Mercy-Argenteau  :  "  I  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Emperor 
yesterday  (the  30th)  ;  I  should  be  ashamed  of  it,  if  I 
did  not  hope  that  my  brother  would  understand  that, 
in  my  position,  I  am  obliged  to  do  and  to  vnite  all 
that  is  required  of  me.  It  is  essential  that  my 
brother  should  send  me  a  circumstantial  letter  in 
reply,  which   might   answer  as  a  sort  of  basis  for 

253 


254  M All  IE  ANTOINETTE, 

negotiations  here.  Send  a  courier  at  once  to  warn 
him  of  this."  The  Abbe  Louis  (the  future  Baron 
Louis,  Minister  of  Finances  under  the  Restoration) 
went  to  Brussels  with  the  messages,  dictated  by 
Barnave,  inviting  the  emigres  to  moderation.  The 
Abbe  Louis,  who  was  one  of  the  Constitutional 
group,  was  apparently  the  Queen's  envoy.  But  on 
August  1,  she  wrote  to  Count  Mercy-Argenteau : 
"  The  Abbe  will  say  that  he  has  been  accredited  by  me 
to  talk  with  you.  It  is  essential  that  you  shall  seem 
to  listen  to  him  and  to  be  prepossessed;  but  do  not 
allow  yourself  to  be  influenced  by  him.  I  am  obliged 
to  be  extremely  cautious  with  him  and  his  friends. 
They  have  been  useful  to  me,  and  at  this  moment 
they  are  so  still ;  but,  however  good  may  be  the 
intentions  they  manifest,  their  ideas  are  exaggerated 
and  could  never  suit  us."  Even  while  hoping  for 
something  from  abroad,  Marie  Antoinette  did  not 
desire  an  invasion.  What  she  w^anted  was  diplomatic 
action,  an  armed  Congress.  "  I  always  persist,"  she 
added,  "in  wishing  that  the  Powers  should  treat  with 
an  army  behind  them,  but  I  think  it  would  be  ex- 
tremely dangerous  to  seem  to  wish  to  enter  France." 
The  unhappy  Queen,  even  while  simulating  confi- 
dence, knew  very  well  what  to  think  about  the 
schemes  for  public  regeneration  and  felicity,  from 
which  so  much  was  promised.  She  had  seen  the  men 
at  work  who  were  going  to  make  France  so  rich  and 
prosperous.  She  was  edified  by  what  certain  people 
call  liberty.     She  understood  the  greatness  of  soul  of 


ACCEPTANCE  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION.        255 

these  philosophers  who  boasted  that  they  would  bring 
back  the  age  of  gold.  "  These  people,"  said  she  to 
Madame  Campan,  "have  no  desire  for  sovereigns. 
We  shall  succumb  to  their  perfidious  but  consistent 
policy.  They  are  demolishing  the  monarchy  stone  by 
stone." 

Meanwhile  the  rigors  of  the  captivity  in  the  Tuile- 
ries  were  gradually  diminishing.  Louis  XVI.,  who 
had  been  put  under  arrest  like  a  simple  officer,  little 
by  little  became  King  again.  Certain  persons  went 
so  far  as  to  claim  that  he  was  about  to  become  so 
altogether.  There  was  talk  of  creating  a  guard  for 
him.  It  was  said  that  he  was  to  be  a  monarch  after 
the  English  pattern.  The  advocates  of  a  parliament- 
ary system  were  delighted.  September  3,  1791,  a 
deputation  from  the  National  Assembly  came  in  great 
pomp  to  bring  to  the  King,  who  was  still  a  captive, 
the  Constitutional  Act.  They  set  out  at  seven  in 
the  evening,  preceded  by  ushers  and  torches  and 
marching  between  a  double  row  of  National  Guards, 
and  entered  the  Tuileries  by  way  of  the  Carrousel. 
Next  day  Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  :  "  The  Constitu- 
tion is  finished,  and  has  been  in  the  King's  hands 
since  yesterday.  To-day  the  doors  were  opened. 
There  were  many  cries  of  '  Long  live  the  King  and 
the  Queen.'  At  Vespers  there  was  applause  when 
the  King  entered  and  went  out.  He  has  decided 
that  those  who  have  been  guarding  him,  and  also 
the  Queen  and  his  son,  shall  continue  to  act  as  his 
guard  of  honor,  until  the  formation  of  his  household. 


256  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

There  are  some  honest  men  among  them.  Neverthe- 
less, the  j)alace  is  surrounded  as  usual  by  four  or  five 
hundred  National  Guards.  Paris  is  not  in  commo- 
tion. Enormous  crowds  come  to  the  Tuileries.  But 
they  are  all  people  who  make  a  good  enough  appear- 
ance. Now  and  then  we  can  see  that  some  of  them 
are  well  affected  towards  us.  The  others  are  quiet, 
and  all  seem  glad  to  see  their  former  master,  hoping 
that  he  will  promptly  sign  this  superb  document  with 
which  all  their  heads  are  turned,  and  which  they 
think  was  made  for  their  happiness."  At  the  same 
time,  Marie  Antoinette  wrote  to  Count  Mercy-Argen- 
teau  :  "  You  must  surely  have  received  the  charter  ; 
it  is  a  tissue  of  impracticable  absurdities.  With  time 
and  a  little  wisdom,  I  still  hope  that  we  may  at  least 
prepare  a  happier  future  for  our  children." 

September  13,  Louis  XVI.  addressed  to  the  Na- 
tional Assembly  a  message,  concerted  with  Barnave, 
in  which  he  accepted  the  new  Constitution.  ''  In 
order  to  extinguish  animosities,"  said  he  in  this  doc- 
ument, "  let  us  agree  to  a  mutual  forgetf ulness  of  the 
past.  Let  the  accusations  and  prosecutions  which 
have  arisen  solely  from  the  events  of  the  Revolution 
be  extinguished  by  a  general  reconciliation.  I  wish 
to  swear  to  the  Constitution  in  the  very  place  where 
it  was  made,  and  I  will  come  to  the  National  Assem- 
bly at  noon  to-morrow."  Upon  the  motion  of  Lafay- 
ette, the  Assembly  unanimously  adopted  the  general 
amnesty  asked  for  by  the  King,  and  a  numerous 
deputation  Avent  to  carry  him  this  decree,  which  set 


ACCEPTANCE   OF  THE   CONSTITUTION.        257 


at  liberty  all  who  had  taken  part  in  the  Yarennes 
journey.  In  the  morning  of  September  14,  Madame 
Elisabeth  wrote  to  Madame  de  Raigecourt :  "  I  am 
going  to  the  Assembly  at  noon,  to  attend  the  Queen. 
If  I  were  the  mistress,  I  certainly  would  not  go. 
But,  I  do  not  know,  all  this  will  not  cost  more  to  me 
than  to  many  others,  although  assuredly  I  am  far 
from  being  a  Constitutionalist." 

The  firing  of  cannon  and  popular  joy  announced 
the  ai'rival  of  the  royal  cortege  in  the  Hall  of  the 
Manege.  Louis  XVI.  wore  no  order  but  the  cross  of 
Saint  Louis,  in  deference  to  a  decree  of  the  Assembly 
which  had  just  abolished  all  other  decorations.  It 
was  a  curious  symptom  that  the  Most  Christian  King 
should  no  longer  dare  to  wear  the  order  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  He  mounted  slowly  to  the  armchair  intended 
for  him.  At  his  left,  and  on  the  same  level,  was  the 
seat  of  the  President  of  the  Assembly,  de  Thouret, 
who,  like  the  King,  Avas  to  peiish  on  the  scaffold. 
The  Queen,  the  Dauphin,  Madame  Royale,  and 
Madame  Elisabeth  took  places  in  one  of  the  boxes. 
Hardly  had  Louis  XVI.  taken  the  oath,  when  the 
President,  in  an  affected  manner,  hastily  sat  down. 
Louis  XVI.,  who  noticed  this,  also  resumed  his  seat 
without  dela}^  Subjects  sitting  down  in  advance  of 
their  sovereign  was  in  the  eyes  of  Louis  XVI.  and 
his  family  the  highest  pitch  of  insolence  and  scandal. 

The  Assembly  reconducted  the  monarch  to  his 
palace.  Acclamations  resounded  on  all  sides.  Salvos 
of  artillery  and  enthusiastic  applause  announced  the 


258  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

opening  of  a  new  era.  But  Louis  XVI.  and  Ins 
Queen  were  sad  unto  death.  On  returning  from  the 
Tuileries,  the  King,  looking  very  pale,  entered  Marie 
Antoinette's  apartment.  His  countenance  was  ex- 
tremely altered.  Throwing  himself  into  an  arm- 
chair, he  cried,  "  All  is  lost !  "  Then,  turning  toward 
Madame  Campan,  "  Ah !  Madame,"  said  he,  "  you 
were  a  witness  of  this  humiliation.  What!  you 
came  to  France  to  see.  ..."  And  sobs  impeded 
his  utterance.  The  Queen  fell  on  her  knees  before 
him  and  clasped  him  in  her  arms.  "  I  stayed,"  adds 
Madame  Campan,  "not  through  blamable  curiosity, 
but  because  I  was  so  stupefied  that  I  could  not  tell 
what  I  ought  to  do.  The  Queen  said  to  me,  '  Ah ! 
go  away !  go  away  I '  with  an  accent  which  meant, 
'Do  not  stay  to  be  a  spectator  of  your  sovereign's 
prostration  and  despair.' " 

While  the  republicans  and  Orleanists  were  cele- 
brating the  new  Constitution,  the  royalists  who  were 
faithful  to  Louis  XVI.  amused  themselves  by  snatch- 
ing some  ephemeral  triumphs  in  the  theatres.  At 
the  Nation  Theatre  they  got  G-aston  et  Bayard  and 
La  Pa7'tie  de  chasse  de  Henri  IV.  produced  on  Sep- 
tember 16.  After  having  frantically  applauded  the 
passages  which  make  allusion  to  the  ancient  love  of 
the  French  people  for  their  king,  they  went  every- 
where repeating,  "  Public  opinion  is  changed ;  the 
Constitution  will  not  last."  They  paid  men  and 
women  of  the  people  to  cry  "Long  live  the  King!" 
"  Long  live  the  Queen  !  "  beneath  the  windows  of  the 


ACCEPTANCE   OF  THE  CONSTITUTION.        259 

Tuileries.  And  tliey  assured  Louis  XVI.  tliat,  the 
Assembly  once  dissolved,  the  monarchical  sentiment 
would  at  once  resume  its  vigor. 

The  Constitution  was  solemnly  proclaimed  on  Sep- 
tember 18,  in  the  midst  of  a  magnificent  fete  in  the 
Champ-de-Mars.  The  citizens  embraced  each  otlier 
like  brethren.  The  new  Constitution  was  read  from 
the  summit  of  the  Altar  of  the  Country.  Balloons 
displaying  patriotic  inscriptions  were  sent  up  in  the 
Champs-Elys^es.  The  aeronauts  threw  down  pam- 
phlets of  the  Constitution  on  the  heads  of  the  crowd. 
In  the  evening  the  illuminations  were  superb.  Gar- 
lands of  fire,  reaching  from  tree  to  tree,  outlined  a 
sparkling  avenue  from  the  Barriere  de  I'Etoile  to  the 
Tuileries,  in  which  numerous  bands  played  joyous 
music.  At  eleven  o'clock,  Louis  XVI.  and  his  fam- 
ily drove  in  a  carriage  through  this  radiant  avenue. 
The  acclamations  were  enthusiastic.  The  ungrrateful 
nation  could  not  get  over  its  habit  of  crying,  "  Long 
live  the  King !  "  For  one  moment  the  bitterest  revo- 
lutionists, the  most  enthusiastic  republicans,  became 
royalists  in  spite  of  themselves.  The  same  Champs- 
Elys^es  which  three  months  before  had  been  a  road 
of  humiliation  and  of  anguish  was  transformed  into 
a  triumphal  way.  It  was  like  a  magic  souvenir — an 
evocation  of  the  happy  days.  The  lamp-posts  were 
alight,  and  this  time  no  victims  were  hanging  from 
them.  Marie  Antoinette  could  not  believe  that  they 
were  the  same  people.  What  I  they  had  still  homage 
and  benedictions  for  her  ?  What !  cries  of  "  Long  live 


260  MAMIE  ANTOINETTE. 

tlie  Queen!"  resounded  once  more?  But,  like  the 
slave  in  ancient  triumphs,  there  was  a  man  of  the  peo- 
ple who  disturbed  the  joy  of  this  ovation.  Every  time 
that  the  acclamations  ceased,  this  man,  who  never 
quitted  the  door  of  the  royal  carriage  for  an  instant, 
cried  out  alone,  and  with  the  voice  of  a  stentor :  "  Do 
not  believe  them.  Long  live  the  Nation !  "  And 
this  sinister  personage  froze  Marie  Antoinette  with 
terror. 

However,  there  was  a  few  days'  lull  in  the  storm. 
The  royal  family  reappeared  in  the  theatres  and  were 
applauded  as  of  old.  "We  have  been  at  the  Opera," 
wrote  INIadame  Elisabeth,  September  25.  "  To-mor- 
row we  are  going  to  the  Comedie.  I  am  enchanted 
about  it;  and  to-day  we  had  a  Te  Deum  during  the 
Mass.  There  was  one  also  at  Notre  Dame.  Mon- 
seigneur  the  intruder  (Gobel,  the  Constitutional 
Bishop  of  Paris)  was  ver}^  anxious  that  we  should  go 
there.  But  when  one  is  sung  at  home,  one  is  dis- 
pensed from  going  to  hud  another  elsewhere.  We 
kept  quiet,  therefore.  This  evening  we  are  to  have 
another  illumination.  The  garden  will  be  superb, 
all  hung  Avith  lamps  and  those  little  glass  things 
which  for  two  years  no  one  has  been  able  to  name 
without  horror." 

September  30,  Louis  XVI.  went  to  the  Hall  of 
the  Manege,  to  be  present  at  the  closing  session  of 
the  Constituent  Assembly.  Bailly,  in  the  name 
of  the  municipality,  and  M.  de  Pastoret,  in  the  name 
of  the  departments,  congratulated  it  on  the  achieve- 


ACCEPTANCE  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION.        261 

ment  of  its  task.  "Legislators,"  said  Bailly,  "you 
have  been  armed  with  the  greatest  power  with 
which  men  can  be  invested.  To-morrow  you  will 
again  be  nothing.  It  is  neither  interest  nor  flattery, 
then,  which  praises  you.  It  is  your  works.  We 
announce  to  you  the  benedictions  of  posterity,  which 
for  you  begin  to-day."  "  Liberty,"  said  M.  de  Pas- 
toret  afterwards,  "  had  fled  over  seas,  or  taken  refuge 
in  the  mountains.  You  have  raised  up  again  its 
shattered  throne.  Despotism  had  effaced  all  the 
pages  of  the  book  of  Nature.  You  have  established 
anew  the  Decalogue  of  free  men."  The  King  left 
the  hall  amid  the  huzzas  and  acclamations  of  the 
Assembly  and  the  galleries.  The  President  then 
said,  "  The  National  Constituent  Assembly  declares 
that  it  has  fulfilled  its  mission,  and  that  all  its  ses- 
sions are  over."  It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. 

When  Robespierre  and  Petion  went  out,  the  crowd 
crowned  them  with  oak  leaves  and  took  the  horses  out 
of  their  carriage  to  drag  them  in  triumph.  They 
called  one  of  them  the  Incorruptible,  and  the  other 
the  Virtuous.  This  ovation  to  the  two  tribunes 
presaged  the  future,  and  through  '91  pierced  already 
'93. 

In  reality,  nobody  laid  down  his  arms.  All  Paris 
was  joyful.  The  bells  rang.  Fetes  w^ere  given. 
They  sang.  They  illuminated.  But  none  of  these 
demonstrations  of  gaiety  deceived  the  sagacious  ob- 
server.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  acceptance  of  the 


262  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Constitution,  far  from  reuniting  minds,  divided  them 
more  than  ever.  The  journals  redoubled  their  vio- 
lence. The  cafds  were  like  fields  of  battle.  The 
reactionists  who  said,  "Out  of  the  old  regime  there 
is  no  salvation,"  considered  the  new  Constitution  a 
miserable  scrap  of  paper,  a  tissue  of  criminal  absurd- 
ities. Those  who  thought  that  Louis  XVI.  might 
have  accepted  it  in  good  faith,  regarded  him  as  a 
ridiculous  sovereign,  the  phantom  of  a  king,  pro- 
nouncing his  own  deposition.  An  officer  of  dragoons 
at  a  table  d'h6te  cried,  as  he  shivered  his  glass,  "  I 
am  a  royalist,  but  I  am  not  a  Louis  seiziste.''^ 

But,  to  the  majority  of  the  King's  partisans,  his  ac- 
ceptance was  merely  a  feint,  a  means  of  gaining  time. 
"  It  is  necessary,"  said  they,  "  that  Louis  XVI.  should 
pretend  to  be  pleased  with  everything,  that  he  should 
sign  whatever  is  presented  to  him,  that  he  should  aston- 
ish the  Constitutionals  by  his  submission  and  docil- 
ity." 

They  added  that  if  Monsieur  were  declared  regent 
and  the  Count  d'Artois  lieutenant-general  of  the 
realm,  the  King  ought  to  be,  as  in  effect  he  was, 
absolutely  null,  eclipsed,  annihilated,  for  the  time 
being.  Otherwise,  the  attitude  of  the  Princes  could 
not  be  justified.  And  again  they  said :  "  Things  will 
right  themselves.  The  parliamentary  phantasma- 
goria will  disappear  in  an  instant.  It  is  a  soap 
bubble  which  will  vanish  into  air." 

"  Distrust !  Distrust !  "  shrieked  the  Jacobins. 
They  were  more  suspicious,   more  atrabilious  than 


ACCEPTA^'CE  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION.       263 

ever.  Louis  XYI.  is  going  to  essay  in  good  faith 
his  r61e  as  a  constitutional  sovereign.  But  the  con- 
tract is  synallagmatic,  two-sided.  That  the  King 
may  be  loyal  to  the  Constitution,  it  is  necessary  that 
his  subjects  shall  be  103'al  to  him ;  the  royal  preroga- 
tives, and  notably  the  right  of  veto^  must  be  re- 
spected; the  Constitution  must  be  something  different 
from  an  instrument  of  anarchy  and  disorder.  The 
Constitutional  party,  honorable  men  in  spite  of  their 
illusions,  would  like  a  fair  and  honest  trial.  But  the 
Constitutionals  are  already  out  of  the  running.  Bar- 
nave,  who  was  in  advance  of  Mirabeau,  is  now  dis- 
tanced by  a  swarm  of  democrats,  who  see  in  him 
nothing  but  a  belated  conservative.  It  is  all  over 
with  moderation.  There  is  no  place  for  anything 
but  violence.  The  drama  which  was  supposed  to  be 
finished,  has  just  begun.  The  Constitution  is  not 
the  epilogue;  it  is  the  prologue;  and  Louis  XVI.  and 
Marie  Antoinette  are  covered  with  flowers  only  to 
make  them  resemble  the  victims  of  antiquity  before 
leading"  them  to  the  sacrifice. 


V. 


MARIE  Antoinette's  last  evenings  at  the 

THEATRE. 

WHEN  I  was  at  the  Odeon,  watching  a  play 
in  which  Marie  Antoinette  comes  on  the 
scene,  I  looked  at  the  place  where  the  Sovereign 
often  made  her  appearance  in  this  hall  where  the 
Theatre  Frangais  Avas  installed  at  the  end  of  the  old 
regime,  and  where  the  first  representation  of  the 
Mariage  de  Figaro  was  given.  I  saw  again  the  splen- 
did toilets,  the  high  coiffures,  and  precious  stones ;  I 
breathed  that  perfume  of  elegance  which  is  found 
no  more.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  the  Queen, 
not  on  the  stage  where  they  were  trying  to  repre- 
sent her,  but  in  her  box,  surrounded  by  her  maids 
of  honor  and  her  chamberlains,  saluted  on  coming 
in  and  going  out  by  acclamations  from  the  whole 
theatre,  and  giving  with  her  own  royal  hand  through- 
out the  play  the  signals  for  applause. 

In  1791  the  appearance  of  the  Queen  still  pro- 
duced a  great  effect  upon  the  public.  But  there 
was  no  longer  the  same  unanimity  of  enthusiasm. 
The  Revolution  had  insinuated  itself  everywhere, 
in  salons  and  theatres  as  well  as  in  the  streets  and 
264 


LAST  EVENINGS  AT  THE  THEATRE.  265 

public  places.  The  Jacobins  sent  emissaries  to  the 
pit  as  well  as  to  the  galleries  of  the  National  As- 
sembly. Dramatic  representations  gave  perpetual 
opportunities  for  insults  and  contests  between  par- 
ties. Marie  Antoinette,  who  had  great  courage,  was 
not  afraid  to  brave  the  popular  tiger.  In  apj)earing 
before  the  crowd,  where  she  found  so  many  enemies, 
she  accustomed  herself  to  face  her  persecutors,  soon 
to  be  her  tormentors.  She  tried  to  avail  herself  once 
more  of  that  prestige  which  not  long  ago  had  pro- 
cured her  so  much  reverence.  She  wanted  to  see 
whether  the  power  of  her  beauty,  joined  to  the  new 
majesty  of  her  sorrow,  would  not  still  affect  an  un- 
grateful people.  Every  evening  spent  at  the  theatre 
was  like  a  battle  given  courageously  to  calumny  and 
insult.  When  she  set  her  foot  in  one,  she  did  not 
know  whether  she  should  leave  it  without  hearing 
criticisms  or  curses  levelled  at  her;  and  when  her 
coming  was  again  greeted  with  applause,  when  she 
beheld  traces  of  emotion  and  respect  on  different 
faces,  she  returned  to  the  Tuileries  with  a  smile  on 
her  lips  and  gratitude  in  the  depths  of  her  heart. 

She  had  not  been  to  the  theatre  in  a  long  time, 
but  in  September,  1791,  she  decided  to  go  as  a  sort 
of  proof  of  her  confidence  in  the  Parisians.  At  this 
time,  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette  gained  a 
renewal  of  popularity.  The  National  Assembly  in 
its  session  chamber  might  fail  in  res23ect  toward  the 
Sovereign;  but  the  people  followed  him  with  huzzas 
in  the  streets.     "  With  the  disposition  of  the  French 


266  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


people  to  idolatry,"  said  Prudliomme  at  this  time,  in 
his  Journal  des  Me  volutions  de  Paris,  "such  a  king 
would  soon  be  only  the  father  of  the  subjects  of  the 
State,  and  from  such  paternity  to  despotism  is  only 
a  step.  Let  us  avoid  enthusiasm."  At  the  fete 
given  on  September  18,  1791,  the  affection  of  the 
people  for  Louis  XVI.  approached  delirium,  and  at 
the  one  given  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  on  the 
25th  of  the  same  month  it  rose  to  ecstasy.  ''  It  was 
useless  for  the  orchestra  to  play  the  favorite  air  Oa 
ira,^"*  said  Prudhomme  again  ;  "  it  would  not  do ;  they 
had  to  repeat  royalist  ditties." 

Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  to  Madame  de  Raige- 
court,  September  25 :  "  We  have  been  to  the  Opera, 
and  to-morrow  we  are  going  to  the  Com^die.  What 
pleasures !  I  am  perfectly  enchanted  with  them." 
Madame  Campan  has  said  of  these  two  represen- 
tations :  "  Their  Majesties  were  at  the  Opdra.  The 
assembly  was  composed  of  all  those  who  adhered 
to  the  King's  party,  and  on  that  day  one  could 
enjoy  the  happiness  of  seeing  him  surrounded  by 
faithful  subjects :  the  plaudits  were  sincere.  At 
the  Fran^ais  the  play  chosen  was  the  Coquette  cor- 
rigee,  simply  because  Mademoiselle  Contat  made 
her  greatest  success  in  it.  Nevertheless,  as  the  title 
of  the  piece  continually  suggested  to  my  mind  the 
opinion  which  the  Queen's  enemies  had  spread  con- 
cerning her,  I  found  the  selection  injudicious  without 
knowing  how  to  say  so  to  Her  Majesty.  But  sincere 
attachment  gives  courage ;  I  explained  myself ;  she 


LAST  EVENINGS  AT  THE  TIIEATBE,         267 

took  it  kindly,  and  requested  a  different  play:  tliey 
gave  La  Gouvernante.  The  Queen,  Madame  the 
King's  daughter,  and  Madame  Elisabeth  were  all 
very  well  received.  It  is  true  that  the  opinions  and 
sentiments  of  the  spectators  could  not  but  be  favora- 
ble ;  care  had  been  taken,  before  each  of  these  repre- 
sentations, to  fill  the  pit  properly." 

On  October  8  the  royal  famil}^  went  to  the  Theatre 
Italien.  This  theatre  was  on  the  boulevard  which  has 
borrowed  its  name,  just  opposite  the  rue  de  Riche- 
lieu. It  was  built  in  1783,  on  the  site  of  the  H6tel 
Choiseul,  for  the  so-called  actors  of  the  Comedie 
Italienne,  who  had  been  united,  since  1762,  with 
those  of  the  Opera  Comique.  They  were  to  repre- 
sent there  ''  French  comedies,  comic  operas,  and 
musical  performances,  whether  vaudevilles,  ariettas, 
or  burlesques."  The  evening  of  October  8, 1791,  was 
particularly  touching.  The  theatre  resounded  more 
than  once  with  acclamations,  blended  sometimes  with 
sobs ;  tenderness  united  with  respect.  Nor  was  the 
enthusiasm  less  in  the  approaches  to  the  theatre  than 
within  the  walls.  The  populace  became  itself  again ; 
that  is  to  say,  gentle,  compassionate,  full  of  venera- 
tion for  the  King  and  his  family.  Louis  XVI.  and 
Marie  Antoinette  were  happy  to  be  able  to  show  the 
Dauphin  and  his  sister  this  crowd  whom  the  two 
children  had  seen  so  hostile  through  the  dust  of  the 
tumultuous  return  from  Yarennes.  INIadame  Elisa- 
beth wrote  Madame  de  Raigecourt,  October  12:  "All 
is  tranquil  hei'e ;   but  who  knows  how  long  it  will 


268  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

last?  I  think  it  will  be  long,  because,  as  the  people 
do  not  meet  with  any  resistance,  they  have  no  reason 
to  become  exasperated.  At  this  moment  the  King  is 
the  object  of  public  adoration.  You  can  form  no 
idea  of  the  uproar  at  the  Comedie  Italienne  last 
Saturday;  but  it  remains  to  be  seen  how  long  this 
enthusiasm  wdll  last !  " 

At  this  time,  Marie  Antoinette,  usually  so  calum- 
niated, herself  regained  popularity.  The  Correspon- 
dance  secrete  sur  la  cour  et  la  ville,  from  1777  to  1791, 
published  by  M.  de  Lescure  from  manuscripts  in  the 
imperial  library  of  Saint  Petersburg,  contains  a  very 
curious  passage  on  this  change  of  opinion :  — 

''^December  30,  1791.  —  The  King  makes  every 
effort  to  recover  his  popularity.  He  often  walks  in 
the  city,  and  especially  in  the  suburbs,  but  it  is  suffi- 
ciently remarkable  that  he  has  never  received  as 
much  applause  as  was  given  to  the  Queen  yesterday 
at  the  Opera.i  The  people  shouted  a  thousand  times, 
the  women  above  all,  '  Long  live  the  Queen ! '  after- 
wards, '  Long  live  the  Nation  ! '  and  very  seldom, 
'  Long  live  the  King ! '  It  begins  to  dawn  on  the 
public  that  this  Princess,  Avhose  will  and  whose  reso- 
lutions  are  firm  and  decided,  has  resolved  in  good 
faith  to  adhere  to  the  Constitution,  which  assures  us 
of  the  neutrality  of  the  Emperor,  while  Louis  XVI. 
regrets  the  old  regime." 

But  the  good  dispositions  of  the  multitude  toward 

1  The  Op6ra  was  at  this  time  installed  in  the  boulevard,  in  the 
hall  which  was  afterward  the  theatre  of  the  Porte  Saint  Martin. 


LAST  EVENINGS  AT  THE   THEATRE,         269 

the  Queen  were  not  to  be  very  lasting.  The  Jacobins 
especially  feared  public  sympathy.  They  were  not 
slow  in  organizing  counter-demonstrations.  Yet  Marie 
Antoinette  was  once  more  applauded  at  the  theatre : 
it  was  at  the  Italiens,  on  February  20,  1792.  But 
on  that  evening  the  ovations  were  contested.  There 
was  a  struggle,  and,  in  order  to  triumj^h,  the  partisans 
of  the  royal  family  were  obliged  to  display  all  their 
zeal  and  devotion. 

The  play  was  one  which  lent  itself  to  allusions  to 
monarchical  faith  and  fidelity :  Gr^ try's  comic  opera, 
Les  Eve7iements  imprevus,  in  which  the  charming 
cantatrice,  Madame  Dugazon,  was  then  performing 
wonders.  She  was  royalist  at  heart.  She  wished  to 
try  the  public  that  evening.  According  to  Madame 
Campan's  account,  she  was  seen  to  bow  towards  the 
Queen  when  singing  these  words  in  a  duet :  "  Ah,  how 
I  love  my  mistress  !  "  At  once,  more  than  a  score  of 
voices  shouted  from  the  pit:  "No  mistress!  no  mas- 
ter! Liberty!"  A  number  of  men  in  the  boxes  and 
balconies  responded :  "Long  live  the  Queen!  Long- 
live  the  King  !  May  the  King  and  Queen  live  for- 
ever!" The  pit  answered:  "No  master!  no  Queen!" 
The  quarrel  grew  hotter,  the  pit  divided  into  two 
parties  which  fought  together,  and  the  Jacobins  got 
the  worst  of  it.  Tufts  of  their  black  hair  were  flj'ing 
all  over  the  theatre.  (They  alone,  at  this  epoch,  had 
abandoned  the  custom  of  powdering  their  hair.) 

A  large  number  of  the  guards  arrived.  The 
Faubourg  Saint-Antoine,  apprised  of  what  was  going 


270  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

on  at  the  Italiens,  had  assembled  and  were  already 
talking  of  marching  toward  the  theatre.  The  Queen 
preserved  the  noblest  and  most  calm  demeanor ;  the 
officers  of  the  guard  surrounded  and  reassured  her. 
Their  behavior  was  active  and  prudent,  and  no  bad 
result  followed.  On  going  out,  the  Queen  was 
greatly  applauded.  It  was  the  last  time  that  she 
entered  a  theatre.  During  the  whole  evening  her 
attitude  had  been  profoundly  touching.  With  the 
exception  of  the  Jacobins,  all  the  spectators  sympa- 
thized with  her.  More  than  once  she  dried  her  eyes. 
Even  the  applause  saddened  her.  The  Dauphin,  who 
sat  on  her  lap,  seemed  to  be  asking  why  she  wept. 
And  she  seemed  to  be  answering  and  seeking  to 
tranquillize  him. 

This  evening  of  February  20,  1792,  was  to  be  the 
Queen's  last  ovation.  Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  to 
Madame  de  Raigecourt  on  February  22 :  "  The 
Queen  and  her  children  were  at  the  Comedie  yester- 
day. There  was  an  infernal  racket  of  applause. 
Jacobins  wanted  to  make  an  uproar,  but  they  were 
beaten.  The  duet  in  the  Evenements  imprevus  be- 
tween the  valet  and  the  chambermaid,  concerning 
their  love  for  their  master  and  mistress,  was  encored 
four  times ;  and  when  it  came  to  the  words,  '  We 
must  make  them  happy,'  nearly  the  whole  theatre 
cried,  '  Yes  !  yes  ! '  Can  you  understand  our  nation  ? 
It  must  be  owned,  it  has  charming  moments.  Where- 
upon I  wish  you  good  night,  and  beg  you  to  pray  God 
well  during  this  Lent  that  He  may  look  mercifully 


LAST  EVENINGS  AT  THE   THEATRE.         271 

on  us.  But,  my  heart,  take  care  to  think  only  of 
His  glory,  and  put  aside  all  which  relates  to  the 
world.     I  embrace  you." 

Madame  Elisabeth  spoke  of  the  same  evening  in 
a  letter  which  she  wrote  on  February  23,  to  her 
brother,  the  Count  d'Artois :  "  Paris  is  almost  tran- 
quil. The  other  day  at  the  Comedie,  when  the 
Queen  was  there  with  her  children,  there  was  an 
infernal  racket  which  ended  in  an  astonishing  scene 
by  which  a  great  many  persons  were  affected.  The 
majority  of  those  present  shouted,  '  Long  live  the 
King  !  Long  live  the  Queen  ! '  enough  to  bring  the 
roof  down.  Those  who  were  of  a  different  mind  were 
beaten,  and  a  duet  which  suggested  a  reconciliation 
was  repeated  four  times.  But  it  was  only  a  moment, 
one  of  those  gleams  which  the  nation  has  sometimes, 
and  God  knows  whether  it  will  continue." 

No  ;  it  will  not  continue.  On  the  next  day  after 
that  evening  of  February  20,  the  Orateur  du  peuj^le 
newspaper  wrote :  "  The  Queen  shall  be  flogged  in 
her  box  at  the  theatre.  The  Queen  is  playing  the 
harlot."  What  follows  is  not  fit  to  be  quoted.  The 
Queen  was  never  to  appear  in  a  theatre  again.  Her 
brother's  death  was  near,  and  the  mourning  she  was 
about  to  wear  was  not  the  mourning  of  the  Emperor 
Leopold  alone,  but  that  of  the  French  monarchy  and 
its  ancient  and  venerable  glories. 


VI. 

THE  DUKE  OF  ORLEANS   IN   1791. 

AT  the  close  of  1791,  Louis  XVI.  and  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  were  very  near  a  reconciliation. 
The  Duke  remembered  now  and  then  that  he  was  a 
Bourbon  and  a  Prince  of  the  blood.  At  such  times 
he  repented  of  his  errors  ;  he  had  an  intuition  of  his 
duties  ;  he  thought  seriously  of  behaving  like  a  good 
kinsman  toward  the  King ;  but  a  sort  of  fatality 
flung  him  back  into  his  usual  faults,  and  the  first 
Prince  of  the  blood  again  became  seditious.  This 
happened  once  again  after  the  acceptance  of  the 
Constitution.  Thinking  of  conciliation  and  clem- 
ency, Louis  XVI.  appointed  his  cousin  admiral,  on 
September  16,  1791,  and  the  Duke  went  to  thank  the 
Minister  of  Marine,  M.  Bertrand  de  Molleville,  who 
has  recounted  in  his  Memoirs  the  details  of  his 
interview  with  the  Prince. 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  assured  the  Minister,  in  a 
tone  of  perfect  frankness  and  loyalty,  that  he  valued 
extremely  the  favor  the  King  had  granted  him,  be- 
cause it  would  enable  him  to  show  His  Majesty  how 
greatly  he  had  been  calumniated.  "  I  am  very  un- 
272 


THE  DUKE  OF  OBLEANS  IN  1791.  273 

fortunate,"  said  he,  "without  deserving  to  be  so. 
They  have  Laid  a  thousand  atrocities  at  my  door,  of 
which  I  am  absolutely  innocent.  I  have  been  sup- 
posed guilty,  solely  because  I  have  disdained  to  clear 
myself  of  crimes  which  I  hold  in  the  profoundest 
horror.  You  are  the  first  minister  to  Avhom  T  have 
said  as  much,  because  you  are  the  first  whose  char- 
acter has  always  inspired  me  with  confidence.  You 
will  presently  have  a  favorable  opportunity  to  judge 
whether  my  conduct  gives  the  lie  to  my  words." 
M.  Bertrand  de  Molleville  replied :  "  Monseigneur,  I 
so  greatly  fear  to  weaken  the  force  of  your  remarks 
in  reporting  them  to  the  King,  as  you  desire,  that  I 
beg  you  to  express  your  sentiments  to  His  Majesty 
yourself."  "  That  is  precisely  what  I  desire,"  re- 
turned the  Duke  ;  "  and  if  I  could  flatter  myself  that 
the  King  would  receive  me,  I  would  go  to  him 
to-morrow." 

That  very  evening,  at  the  council,  the  Minister 
gave  the  King  an  account  of  the  visit  of  the  Duke 
of  Orleans.  Louis  XVI.  concluded  to  receive  his 
cousin ;  and  on  the  following  day  had  a  conversation 
with  him  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  with  which  he 
appeared  satisfied.  He  said  afterwards  to  M.  Ber- 
trand -de  Molleville :  "  I  agree  with  you ;  he  comes 
back  to  us  sincerely,  and  will  do  all  in  his  power  to 
repair  the  evils  done  in  his  name,  and  in  which  it 
is  possible  that  he  has  had  less  share  than  we  have 
supposed." 

The    reconciliation   had   seemed   to  be    complete. 


274  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

But  what  occurred  on  the  following  Sunday  de- 
stroyed all  its  effects,  and  the  abyss,  instead  of  being 
covered  up,  yawned  again  as  wide  as  ever.  On  that 
day  the  Duke  came  to  the  Tuileries  to  be  present 
at  the  King's  levee.  The  interview  between  Louis 
XVI.  and  his  cousin  had  not  been  made  known,  and 
hence  the  appearance  of  the  Prince  caused  general  sur- 
prise. The  courtiers  saw  in  it  not  an  evidence  of  sub- 
mission, but  an  act  of  mere  bravado.  In  their  eyes,  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  was  the  most  dangerous  and  guiltiest 
of  revolutionists.  They  attributed  all  catastrophes 
and  all  crimes  to  him.  His  presence  made  them 
cry  out  with  horror ;  and  they  pressed  around  him, 
affecting  to  tread  on  his  toes,  and  pushed  him  toward 
the  door.  Not  being  able  to  reach  the  King's  cham- 
ber, he  went  to  the  apartment  of  the  Queen.  The 
table  was  already  laid.  Some  one  cried  out,  "Let 
nobody  go  near  the  dishes  ! "  as  if  to  insinuate  that 
the  Prince  might  poison  them.  Ironical  whispers 
and  murmurs  of  indignation  forced  him  to  retire 
without  having  seen  a  single  member  of  the  royal 
family.  He  regained  the  stairway,  intending  to  go 
out.  As  he  was  descending  the  steps,  somebody 
spat,  over  the  banisters,  on  his  clothes  and  his  head. 
An  eye-witness  of  this  scene,  Bertrand  de  Molleville, 
adds,  in  his  Memoirs:  "The  Duke  of  Orleans  has- 
tened out  of  the  palace,  with  rage  and  indignation  in 
his  heart,  and  convinced  that  he  owed  these  outrages 
to  the  King  and  Queen,  who  were  not  only  igno- 
rant of  them,  but  were  extremely  angry  when  they 


THE  DUKE  OF  ORLEANS  IN  1791.  275 

were  told.  From  that  moment  he  abandoned  him- 
self entirely  to  an  implacable  hatred,  and  swore  to 
revenge  himself.  Frightful  oath,  to  which  he  has 
been  only  too  faithful." 

Yesterday  a  royalist,  and  a  republican  to-day,  dis- 
contented with  others  and  with  himself,  drawn  by 
the  fascination  of  the  abyss,  and  sinking  gradually 
into  the  gulf  of  false  situations,  a  nobleman  astray, 
a  Jacobin  prince,  the  tormentors  will  turn  him  to 
account  before  making  him  their  victim.  Sad  fatal- 
ity of  circumstances !  At  another  epoch  the  Duke, 
who  is  amiable  and  witty,  would  be  loved  and  hon- 
ored. Why  was  he  born  in  this  confused  ^nd  troubled 
period  which  destroys  the  very  notion  of  right  and 
duty  ?  One  might  say  he  had  a  presentiment  of  his 
faults  and  their  expiation.  Sometimes  he  tries  to 
leave  the  scorching  arena  which  will  be  so  fatal  to 
him,  and  again  he  comes  back  to  it,  pushed  as  it  were 
by  an  irresistible  force.  He  takes  the  first  step 
toward  a  reconciliation  with  his  King,  and  he  is  dis- 
couraged and  prevented  from  making  the  second. 
Then,  in  vexation,  he  goes  back  into  extremes.  He 
will  seek  the  elements  of  his  vengeance  in  the  lower 
depths  of  society.  He  will  pick  up  his  weapons  out 
of  the  mud.  He  will  subsidize  men  who  to-day  will 
demand  his  gold  and  to-morrow  his  head.  Because 
he  cannot  be  the  familiar  of  the  Tuileries,  he  becomes 
the  courtier  of  the  Jacobin  club. 

This  used-up  man,  weary  of  enjoyment,  satiated 
with  luxury,  gold,  and  pleasure,  finds  perhaps  a  cer- 


276  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

tain  amusement  in  the  unhealthy  but  violent  emotions 
of  the  revolutionary  crisis.  In  London,  with  his  enor- 
mous fortune,  he  could  live  quietly,  without  danger 
and  without  responsibility,  out  of  the  reach  of  tem- 
pests. But  though  he  may  assure  his  friend,  Mrs. 
Elliot,  that  he  has  always  envied  the  position  of  an 
English  country  gentleman,  and  instead  of  wishing 
to  make  himself  king,  as  his  enemies  declare,  he 
would  willingly  exchange  his  position  and  his  fortune 
for  a  small  estate  in  England  and  the  privileges  of 
that  agreeable  country,  yet  he  prefers,  in  spite  of 
everything,  to  remain,  on  the  battle-field  of  insurrec- 
tion, in  the  furnace,  in  the  crater  of  this  volcanic 
Paris,  where  his  palace  is  the  rendezvous  of  all  the 
revolutionary  bands,  and  the  focus  of  all  conspiracies. 
There  kennels  of  debauchery  swarm  close  beside  the 
splendors  of  elegance  and  riches.  He  lives  there, 
surrounded  by  the  strangest  of  courts.  Noblemen 
who  have  come  down  in  the  world  elbow,  in  his 
salons,  revolutionists  starving  when  they  ask  for 
money,  insolent  when  they  have  received  it.  When 
one  accosts  the  Duke,  one  is  tempted  to  say  to  him, 
"  Is  it  to  the  Prince  of  the  blood  that  I  address  ni}^- 
self,  or  to  the  Jacobin  ?  " 

This  personage  of  many  faces  has  something  in 
him  which  troubles  and  disquiets.  His  destiny  is  an 
enigma  of  which  one  cannot  find  the  word.  Is  he  a 
republican  or  a  royalist,  a  traitor  or  a  patriot  ?  Does 
he  act  deliberately,  or  does  he  let  himself  drift  at  the 
mercy  of   the    stream?     Are    his   morning  thoughts 


THE  DUKE  OF  ORLEANS  IN  1791.  211 

what  his  evening  thoughts  were  ?  Is  he  not  change 
itself,  in  politics  as  in  love  ?  Has  he  not  lost  free 
will  ?  Is  he  not  all  the  more  a  slave,  that  his  mistress 
calls  herself  Liberty? 

Each  day  the  spectacles  presented  by  events  are  so 
singular,  so  unforeseen ;  things  march  so  fast ;  the 
excitement  is  so  terrible ;  that  it  is  much  if  the  Duke 
of  Orleans  recognizes  himself,  if  he  keeps  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  identity.  His  new  role  resembles 
the  old  one  so  little,  that  there  is  in  his  very  person 
something  like  a  metamorphosis,  an  avatar.  The 
time  is  approaching  when  people  will  ask  themselves 
whether  citizen  Philippe-Egalit^  is  really  the  same 
person  as  Louis  Joseph,  Duke  of  Orleans,  head  of  the 
younger  branch  of  the  Bourbons,  first  Prince  of  the 
blood,  descendant  in  the  direct  line  of  Saint  Louis 
and  Henri  IV.  Yes,  the  time  is  coming  when  Ser- 
gent,  member  of  the  Council  General,  will  write : 
"  I  saw  the  Duke  of  Orleans  shrug  his  shoulders  on 
receiving  the  name  of  Egalit^,  which  was  given  him 
by  Manuel,  procureur  of  the  Commune  of  Paris.  He 
spoke  to  me  about  it  w^itli  an  ironical  pity  when,  on 
coming  out  of  the  H6tel-de-Ville  together,  where  I 
happened  to  be  at  the  moment,  I  said  to  him,  laugh- 
ing :  '  How  well  that  suits  you !  The  name  of  a 
nymph  for  you,  a  colonel  of  hussars  with  black  mous- 
taches ! '  He  replied  :  '  You  will  do  me  the  justice 
to  believe  that  I  did  not  come  to  the  Commune  to 
change  my  names,  and  that  this  one  was  imposed  on 
me.     You  heard  the  galleries  applauding  that  stupid 


278  MAEIE  ANTOINETTE. 

Manuel.  What  could  I  do  or  say  ?  I  came  to  petition 
for  my  daughter,  who  was  about  to  be  declared  an 
emigree,  and  I  had  to  sacrifice  to  that  important 
affair  my  repugnance  to  this  name,  a  burlesque  for 
me.' " 

The  destiny  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans  is  a  lesson 
w^hich  cannot  be  too  deeply  pondered.  No  person  in 
history  shows  in  a  more  striking  manner  what  the 
revolutionary  gearing  really  is.  Camille  Desmoulins, 
in  his  Fragments  de  Vhistoire  secrete  de  la  Revolution^ 
has  written :  "  It  would  be  very  singular  if  Philippe 
d' Orleans  did  not  belong  to  the  Orleans  faction  ;  but 
the  thing  is  not  impossible."  That  is  not  a  paradox. 
The  Prince  was  not  the  chief  of  his  partisans ;  he  was 
their  plaything  and  their  victim.  "  The  Duke  of 
Orleans,"  says  Mrs.  Elliot  in  her  Memoirs,  "was  a 
very  amiable  man,  of  great  distinction  in  manners, 
and  of  a  pliant  character,  but  the  least  suitable  man 
that  ever  lived  for  the  position  of  chief  of  a  great 
faction.  Neither  his  mind,  his  talents,  nor  even  his 
education,  rendered  him  fit  to  play  such  a  part. 
Laclos  was  the  cause  of  all  the  crimes  attributed  to 
the  Orleans  faction,  and  I  am  very  sure  that  the 
Duke  knew  very  little  about  what  was  done  in  his 


name." 


Mrs.  Elliot  describes  this  Prince  as  loving  pleasure 
above  all  things ;  unable  to  endure  work  or  business 
of  any  sort ;  never  reading,  nor  doing  anything  but 
amuse  himself ;  madly  in  love  with  Madame  de 
Buff  on,  whom  he  drove  about  all  day  in  an  open 


THE  DUKE  OF  ORLEANS  IN  17 01.  279 

carriage,  and  took  to  all  the  sights  in  the  evenings. 
"  The  misfortune  of  the  Duke,"  adds  the  beautiful 
Englishwoman,  "  was  to  be  surrounded  by  ambitious 
persons,  who  led  him  by  degrees  to  their  own  ends, 
pushing  him  on  until  he  found  himself  too  much 
in  their  power  to  draw  back.  His  partisans  were 
enchanted  when  a  new  insult  had  been  offered  him 
at  the  court,  for  they  saw  very  well  that  they  had 
nothing  more  to  fear  from  that  quarter."  Before 
that  his  faction  was  always  afraid  lest  he  might  be 
treated  better  at  the  Tuileries,  and  so  might  slip 
through  their  fingers. 

The  Orleanist  conspiracies  were  not  the  work  of 
the  Duke  of  Orleans.  He  had  only  the  shame  and 
grief  of  submitting  to  them.  At  the  time  of  the 
flight  to  Varennes,  nothing  would  have  been  easier  for 
him  than  to  intrigue  for  the  crown.  Instead  of  doing 
so,  he  said,  "  So  long  as  the  King  is  in  the  country, 
he  alone  is  king."  June  26,  1791,  he  renounced  the 
right  to  the  regency  given  him  by  the  Constitution. 
"  It  is  no  longer  permissible  for  me,"  he  wrote  at  that 
time,  "  to  leave  the  simple  citizen  class,  which  I  did 
not  enter  without  the  firm  determination  to  remain 
in  it  forever ;  and  in  me  ambition  would  be  an  inex- 
cusable inconsequence." 

Was  that  th"e  language  of  a  hj^pocrite?  We  do 
not  think  so.  Whoever,  at  this  epoch,  should  have 
predicted  to  the  Duke  that  he  would  soon  be  a  regi- 
cide, would  have  made  him  shrug  his  shoulders. 

Unhappily,  evil  influences  were  multiplying  daily 


280  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

around  the  ill-fated  Prince  ;  and  his  wife,  the  virtuous 
daughter  of  the  venerable  Duke  de  Penthievre,  was 
no  longer  at  his  side  to  counterbalance  them.  This 
exemplary  Princess,  who  had  married  for  love,  and 
given  her  husband  five  children,  thought  herself 
unable  to  palliate  by  her  presence  infidelities  which 
were  becoming  too  public  and  too  scandalous.  Quit- 
ting the  Palais  Royal  in  1784,  she  took  refuge  with 
her  father ;  and  from  that  time  the  Duke  gave  him- 
self over,  body  and  soul,  to  those  degraded  women 
who  are  as  fond  of  disorder  in  politics  as  in  the 
family,  and  who  imagined  that  the  Revolution  would 
avenge  them  for  the  contempt  they  inspired  in  society. 
The  Dantons,  the  Heberts,  the  Marats,  would  never 
have  gained  a  hold  on  a  prince  Avho  had  remained 
faithful  to  such  a  woman  as  the  Duchess  of  Orleans. 
Involved,  almost  in  spite  of  himself,  in  the  dema- 
gogic vortex,  the  Duke  will  sometimes  wish  to  extri- 
cate himself.  A  secret  voice  will  cry  to  him.  Go  on ! 
He  will  try  in  vain  to  take  precautions  against  his 
natural  impulses.  Fatality  will  everywhere  pursue 
him.  At  the  commencement  of  1792  he  would  be 
glad  to  take  refuge,  like  his  sons,  the  Dukes  of  Char- 
tres  and  Montpensier,  in  that  asylum  of  patriotism 
and  honor,  the  army.  But  hardly  has  he  done  so 
when  he  is  refused  permission  to  remain.  Then  he 
will  ask  for  a  naval  command.  The  ship  he  Avants 
to  embark  on  will  not  return  to  France  until  the 
close  of  1793.  Had  the  request  of  the  Prince  been 
acceded  to,  he  would  have  been  neither  a  member  of 


THE  DUKE  OF  ORLEANS  IN  1701.  281 

the  Convention  nor  a  regicide.  But  his  evil  star 
keeps  him  in  this  fatal  Paris,  where  the  King's  scaf- 
fold and  his  own  are  going  to  be  erected.  One 
might  say  that  some  mysterious  force  is  pushing  him 
toward  the  abyss.  It  is  only  by  a  sort  of  chance  that 
he  will  be  elected  to  the  Convention,  in  which  he 
is  to  play  such  a  melancholy  rSle.  The  twenty-three 
first  deputies  of  Paris  were  chosen  on  September  18, 
1792.  There  was  but  one  more  to  be  elected.  The 
twenty-fourth  will  be  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  He  will 
have  only  the  strictly  necessary  majority.  One  vote 
less,  and  he  would  not  have  been  elected,  and  his 
memory  would  not  have  borne  an  ineffaceable  stain. 
It  is  at  this  time  that  he  will  ask  Mrs.  Elliot  if  she 
thinks  him  vile  enough  to  be  able  to  pass  through 
the  streets  of  Paris  without  unhappiness.  Then  she 
will  implore  him  "  to  get  out  of  the  hands  of  all 
these  vile  beings  w^ho  surround  him,  and  not  allow 
the  wretches  to  use  his  name  as  a  screen  for  such  hor- 
rible deeds."  The  Prince  will  answer :  "That  seems 
a  very  easy  thing  to  do  in  your  salon ;  I  would  be 
very  glad  if  it  were  as  easy  in  reality.  But  I  am  in 
the  stream,  and  find  myself  obliged  to  follow  it.  I 
am  no  longer  master  of  myself  or  of  my  name." 


VII. 


THE    RETURN    OF    THE    PRINCESS    DE    LAMBALLE    TO 

THE   TUILERIES. 

IT  was  not  alone  the  middle  classes  and  the  people 
who  afflicted  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette. 
The  nobility  also  chagrined  them  deeply.  The  very 
men  who  had  carried  liberalism  to  all  lengths,  who 
had  been  Voltairians  and  revolutionists  of  the  worst 
sort,  who  had  wilfully  cast  off  their  titles  and  privi- 
leges as  out  of  date  and  worthless,  bitterly  reproached 
the  King  with  the  destruction  of  the  old  regime. 
This  great  lady,  a  fanatical  admirer  of  Rousseau's 
Co7itrat  SociaL  could  not  be  reconciled  to  the  slig-htest 
changes  in  point  of  etiquette.  That  great  lord,  a 
disciple  of  Helv^tius  and  Baron  d'Holbach,  bore 
malice  against  Louis  XVI.  on  account  of  the  attacks 
made  on  the  Catholic  religion.  The  nobles  who  had 
done  most  to  bring  about  the  triumph  of  the  new 
ideas,  emigrated,  and  left  the  unfortunate  monarch 
to  bear  the  consequences  of  their  own  conduct. 
Others  remained  in  France  only  to  pay  court  to  the 
Jacobins.  As  M.  Granier  de  Cassagnac  has  said  in 
his  Histoire  des  Causes  de  la  RSvolution  francaise  : 
"  One   of  the  most  ignoble  spectacles  which  it  has 

282 


RETURN   OF  THE  PRINCESS  DE  LAMBALLE.      283 

fallen  to  history  to  chronicle  was  witnessed  at  this 
time.  Families  that  for  a  thousand  years  had  lived 
by  feudal  privileges,  and  men  who  for  two  years  had 
rejected  with  unsupportable  arrogance  the  liberal 
reforms  of  Louis  XVI.  and  the  equalizing  of  public 
burdens,  outdid  the  Jacobins,  whose  approbation  they 
coveted,  by  demanding  that  coats-of-arms  and  liveries 
should  be  abolished.  They  had  used  and  abused  the 
institutions  of  the  old  France,  so  long  as  they  pro- 
vided them  with  wealth  and  honors ;  but  now,  when 
these  institutions  merely  brought  them  into  increas- 
ing disfavor  with  the  populace,  they  rejected  them  in 
cowardly  fashion,  and  replaced  the  ducal  mantle  by 
the  revolutionary  jacket,  because  they  could  make  it 
pay  them  better  !  Why,  then,  had  they  not  laid  aside 
their  titles,  destroyed  their  liveries,  and  effaced  their 
escutcheons  two  years  sooner  ?  It  was  because,  two 
years  before,  their  titles,  their  liveries,  and  their 
escutcheons  had  given  them  precedence,  honors, 
and  salaries  at  court ;  but  now  that  the  court  was 
poor  and  the  monarchy  disarmed,  these  beggarly 
nobles  decorated  their  ingratitude  with  the  name  of 
philosophy,  and  made  themselves  courtiers  of  the 
people,  since  they  could  no  longer  be  profitably  the 
courtiers  of  the  King."  The  aristocracy  bewailed 
the  destruction  which  was  their  own  work.  In 
spite  of  all  the  measures  in  which  they  had  taken 
the  initiative,  they  were  surprised  that  the  new 
Constitution  suppressed  what  was  called  rank  at 
court,  and  the   prerogatives   belonging   to  it.     The 


284  MABIE  ANTOINETTE, 

Duchess  de  Duras  sent  in  her  resignation  as  lady  of 
the  palace,  because  she  would  not  yield  her  right  to 
sit  down  in  the  presence  of  her  sovereign.  Several 
more  great  ladies  deserted  the  Tuileries  on  the  same 
account.  This  conduct  saddened  Marie  Antoinette, 
who  saw  herself  abandoned  for  the  sake  of  petty 
privileges  at  a  time  when  the  rights  of  the  crown 
were  so  gravely  compromised  and  so  violently 
attacked.  She  said :  "  Perhaps  I  might  have  found 
some  excuse  for  the  nobility,  if  at  any  time  I  had 
had  the  courage  to  displease  them ;  but  I  have  not. 
When  we  are  forced  to  take  a  step  which  wounds 
them,  I  am  sulked  at ;  no  one  will  come  to  my  card- 
party  ;  the  King's  evening  reception  is  deserted. 
They  are  not  willing  to  consider  political  necessities ; 
they  punish  us  for  our  misfortunes." 

When  the  ill-fated  Sovereign  found  so  much  in- 
gratitude, inconsistency,  levity,  and  selfishness  among 
the  nobility;  when  she  was  blamed,  accused,  and 
abandoned  by  the  very  persons  who  should  have 
pitied  and  assisted  her  the  most,  it  was  a  great  con- 
solation to  meet  a  soul  so  pure,  disinterested,  devoted, 
and  courageous  as  that  of  the  Princess  de  Lamballe. 

The  Princess  had  been  apprised  beforehand  of  the 
journey  to  Varennes.  It  was  agreed  that  in  order  to 
avert  suspicion,  she  should  go  to  Aumale,  where  her 
father-in-law,  the  venerable  Duke  de  Penthievre,  had 
been  staying  for  some  time  on  account  of  his  health. 
At  six  in  the  evening  of  June  21,  1791,  a  post-chaise 
driven  at  full  speed  drew  up  before  the  house  of  the 


RETURN   OF  THE  PRINCESS   DE  LAMBALLE.      285 

bailiff  of  Aumale,  where  M.  de  Penthievre  was  lodg- 
ing. The  Princess  de  Lamballe,  in  great  emotion, 
hastily  alighted  from  the  carriage  and  was  at  once 
met  by  her  father-in-law  and  her  sister-in-law,  the 
Duchess  of  Orleans,  who  were  surprised  by  this  un- 
foreseen arrival.  The  Princess  laid  her  fingers  on 
her  lips,  but  as  soon  as  they  were  alone  she  acquainted 
them  with  the  flight  of  the  royal  family,  which  had 
necessitated  her  own.  After  a  few  minutes  she 
started  on  again,  with  fresh  horses,  to  embark  for 
England  at  Boulogne.  The  ship  she  sailed  in  had 
barely  reached  the  open  sea,  when  a  discharge  of 
cannon  from  the  city  announced  the  King's  flight. 
A  little  later,  and  she  would  have  been  detained  a 
prisoner. 

The  Princess  de  Lamballe  was  entrusted  with  an 
important  and  difficult  mission  in  England.  She 
was  to  attempt  to  lessen  the  hostility  which  the 
government  displayed  toward  Louis  XVL,  and  the 
secret  encouragement  given  by  Pitt  to  the  French 
revolutionists.  Madame  Campan  relates  that  Marie 
Antoinette  said  to  her :  "  I  never  pronounce  the 
name  of  Pitt  without  a  shiver  running  down  my 
back.  That  man  is  the  mortal  enemy  of  France.  He 
is  taking  a  cruel  revenge  for  the  impolitic  assistance 
given  to  the  American  insurgents  by  the  cabinet  of 
Versailles.  He  wishes,  by  our  destruction,  to  guar- 
antee forever  the  maritime  power  of  his  own  country 
from  the  efforts  the  King  has  made  to  build  up  his 
navy.     Pitt  has  aided  the  French  Revolution  from 


286  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

the  very  beginning.  He  will  probably  continue  to 
do  so  until  we  are  completely  destroyed." 

With  all  her  zeal,  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  could 
obtain  nothing  from  Pitt  but  a  vague  promise  not 
to  let  the  French  monarchy  perish,  because,  according 
to  his  own  admission,  ''it  would  be  a  great  fault 
against  the  tranquillity  of  all  Europe  to  permit  the 
revolutionary  spirit  to  bring  about  a  republic  in 
France."  Concerning  this  remark,  Marie  Antoinette 
said :  "  Every  time  that  Pitt  has  declared  himself  on 
the  necessity  of  maintaining  a  monarchy  in  France, 
he  has  kept  the  most  absolute  silence  on  what  con- 
cerns the  monarch.  These  conversations  can  have 
no  good  result." 

Her  mission  once  concluded,  the  Princess  de  Lam- 
balle had  no  thought  except  that  of  returning  to  the 
Queen.  As  she  had  a  presentiment  of  the  dangers 
she  was  about  to  incur,  she  made  her  will.  It  is 
dated  October  15,  1791,  and  breathes  the  tenderness 
of  a  last  adieu  as  well  as  the  sublime  resignation  of 
a  soul  awaiting  martyrdom.  "  I  entreat  the  Queen," 
is  said  in  it,  "to  receive  a  mark  of  gratitude  from 
her  to  whom  she  has  given  the  title  of  her  friend,  — 
a  precious  title  which  has  formed  the  happiness  of  my 
life,  and  which  I  have  never  abused  except  to  give 
her  testimonies  of  attachment  and  proofs  of  my  senti- 
ments toward  her  person,  which  I  have  always  loved 
and  cherished  till  my  latest  breath.  I  ask  her  as  a 
last  favor  to  accept  my  alarum  watch,  to  remind  her 
of  the  hours  we  have  passed  together." 


RETURN   OF  THE  PRINCESS  DE  LAMBALLE.      287 

Marie  Antoinette  was  profoundly  touched  by 
Madame  de  Lamballe's  devotion.  Instead  of  seeking 
a  tranquil  asylum  in  England  or  Germany,  she  was 
bent  on  returning  to  France,  and  throwing  herself 
into  the  furnace.  But  the  unhappy  Queen  repelled 
this  heroic  sacrifice,  and  begged  Madame  de  Lam- 
balle  not  to  make  it.  In  September,  1791,  she  wrote 
to  her :  ''  Do  not  return ;  there  would  be  too  much 
to  grieve  you  in  the  present  state  of  our  affairs.  I 
know  well  that  you  are  good,  and  a  true  friend,  and 
from  the  depths  of  my  own  affection  I  forbid  you  to 
return  hither.  Wait  for  the  results  of  the  Constitu- 
tion. Adieu,  my  dear  Lamballe,  and  believe  that 
my  tender  friendship  for  you  will  end  only  with  my 
life."  But  Madame  de  Lamballe  hastened  none  the 
less  to  the  post  of  danger.  At  the  very  moment 
when  she  entered  France,  the  Queen  wrote  to  her: 
"  No,  I  repeat  it,  my  dear  Lamballe,  do  not  return  to 
us  at  present ;  my  friendship  for  you  is  too  greatly 
alarmed ;  affairs  do  not  seem  to  be  taking  a  better 
turn  notwithstanding  the  acceptance  of  the  Constitu- 
tion, on  which  I  counted.  Stay  with  good  M.  de 
Penthievre,  who  has  such  need  of  your  attention. 
.  .  .  God  grant  that  time  may  bring  about  a  change 
for  the  better ;  but  the  wicked  have  spread  about  so 
many  atrocious  calumnies  that  I  rely  more  on  my 
courage  than  on  events.  Adieu,  then,  my  dear  Lam- 
balle. Be  sure  that  whether  you  are  here  or  far 
away,  I  love  you  and  am  sure  of  your  affection." 
But  it  was  in  vain  that  Marie  Antoinette  implored 


288  MABIE  ANTOINETTE. 

the  Princess  not  to  throw  herself  into  the  tiger's 
jaws.  The  greater  the  peril  was,  the  more  enthusi- 
astic was  her  haste  to  brave  it.  Madame  de  Lam- 
balle  reached  her  father-in-law,  at  Anet,  November 
14, 1791,  and,  departing  on  the  18th,  went  straight  to 
Paris.  The  Duke  de  Penthievre  said  at  the  time : 
"  I  praise  greatly  the  attachment  of  my  daughter-in- 
law  for  the  Queen.  She  has  made  a  very  great  sacri- 
fice in  order  to  return  to  her.  I  tremble  lest  she  fall 
a  victim  to  it." 

The  merit  of  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  was  all  the 
greater,  since  it  was  not  honors,  but  danger,  she  was 
seeking.  It  was  only  out  of  kindness  that  she  per- 
formed her  functions  as  superintendent.  The  offices 
of  the  court  were  suppressed,  and  the  King  was  put- 
ting off  indefinitely  the  formation  of  his  new  civil 
household.  He  was  reluctant  to  choose  amonor  those 
proposed  to  him,  and  to  surround  himself  with  persons 
devoted  to  the  Revolution.  "  I  know  very  well,"  he 
said  to  M.  Bertrand  de  Molleville,  "  that  the  Queen 
cannot  advantageously  retain  the  wives  of  Emi- 
gres near  her  person,  and  I  have  already  spoken 
to  her  about  it ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  it  cannot  be 
expected  that  she  should  associate  with  Mesdames 
Petion,  Condorcet,  and  others  of  that  sort.  As  for 
me,  the  majority  of  those  whose  attendance  was  for- 
merly most  agreeable,  have  abandoned  me,  and  among 
those  who  remain,  there  are  some  who  are  the  torment 
of  my  life."  The  King  and  Queen  did  not  desire  a 
civil   household,  lest   the  new  names   given   to   the 


RETUBN   OF  THE  PRINCESS  BE  LAMBALLE.      289 

offices  should  make  evident  the  abolition  of  the  old 
ones;  they  disliked,  moreover,  to  admit  to  the  most 
distinguished  employments  people  who  were  not 
capable  of  fulfilling  them.  "  If  this  Constitutional 
establishment  were  formed,"  said  Marie  Antoinette, 
"  there  would  not  be  a  single  noble  left  near  us ;  and 
if  things  should  change,  it  would  be  necessary  to  dis- 
miss the  people  whom  we  had  admitted  in  their 
places." 

The  court  was  no  longer  more  than  the  shadow  of 
itself.  The  abode  of  pleasure  was  transformed  into 
a  place  of  anxiety,  deception,  and  grief.  It  was 
feared  that  the  King  and  Queen  might  be  poisoned, 
and  a  multitude  of  precautions  had  to  be  taken  at 
each  of  their  meals.  Madame  Elisabeth  wrote  to 
Madame  de  Raigecourt,  November  16,  1791:  "A 
droll  thing  happened  during  the  last  few  days.  A 
corporal  invented  an  order  to  confine  the  King  and 
Queen  in  their  apartments  from  nine  o'clock  at  night 
until  nine  in  the  morning.  This  confinement  had 
lasted  for  two  days  before  any  one  heard  of  it ;  finally, 
on  the  third  day,  a  grenadier  told  his  captain.  The 
entire  guard  was  furious ;  there  was  going  to  be  a 
council  of  war.  According  to  rule,  the  corporal  ought 
to  be  hanged ;  but  I  do  not  think  he  will  be,  and  I 
should  be  very  sorry  if  he  were.  The  King  was  to  go 
out  riding  the  other  day ;  it  was  villainous  weather, 
and  he  stayed  at  home ;  hence,  a  rumor  throughout 
Paris  that  he  is  again  under  arrest."  This  is  what 
the  heir  of  Louis  XIV.  had  come  to.    Was  it  not  very 


290  MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 

praiseworthy,  then,  in  the  Princess  de  Lamballe  to 
come  and  shut  herself  up  in  this  Pahace  of  the  Tuile- 
ries,  where  the  year  1791  was  ending  so  dismally? 
She  occupied  the  ground-floor  of  the  Pavilion  of 
Flora,  below  the  apartment  of  Madame  Elisabeth. 
To  the  Queen  these  two  admirable  women  were 
friends  who  pushed  sacrifice  to  heroism.  Nothing  is 
more  affecting  than  such  courage  united  to  such 
sweetness.  Amid  the  victims  of  the  Revolution, 
Madame  Elisabeth  and  Madame  de  Lamballe  are 
lambs  without  spot.  Their  ideal  suavity  brings  them 
into  strong  contrast  with  the  sanguinary  hordes  who 
transform  Paris  into  a  pandemonium.  They  are  two 
angels  of  consolation  in  a  hell. 


INDEX. 


Adelaide,  Madame,  the  King's  aunt, 
goes  to  Rome,  81  et  seq. 

Artois,  Comte  d',  seeks  to  form  a 
European  Coalition,  244,  248. 

Assembly,  lAtional,  first  meeting 
of  the,  in  Paris,  11 ;  visit  the 
King  in  the  Tuileries,  12;  pre- 
sent their  respects  to  the  Queen, 
14;  dissolved,  261. 

Augeard,  report  of  his  conversation 
with  Marie  Antoinette,  8 ;  devel- 
ops a  plan  for  her  escape,  9. 

Aunts,  the,  of  the  King,  their  de- 
parture, 81  et  seq. ;  their  painful 
journey,  84. 

Baillon,  M.     See  M.  de  Romeuf. 

Barnave,  sent  by  the  National  As- 
sembly as  commissioner  to  meet 
Louis   XVI.,    188;    his   youthful! 
career,  190;  enters  the  royal  car- 
riage, 191 ;  influence  of  the  Queen  \ 
upon,    192;     rescues    the    three' 
body-guards  of  the  King  from 
the  populace,  194 ;  rescues  a  poor 
village  cure,  194 ;  executed  as  a 
suspected    royalist,    196;    saves 
the  body-guards  at  Pantin,  209; 
Lamartine's  mot  concerning,  191 ; 
a  belated  conservative,  263. 

Bastille,  Place  de  la,  dancing  at,  at 
the  Festival  of  the  Federation, 
68. 

Be'arn,  Countess  de,  describes  the 
life  of  the  royal  family  at  Saint 
Cloud,  43. 

Besenval,  Baron  de,  visited  by 
Count  de  Scgur,  22. 

Body-guards,  the  three,  their  heroic 
decision,   207;    their    danger    at 


Pantin,  209;  attacked  by  the 
crowd  at  the  Tuileries,  214. 
Bouille',  Marquis  de,  in  correspond- 
ence with  the  King  concerning 
his  flight,  125;  anxiety  of,  179; 
informed  of  the  arrest  of  the 
King,  180;  arrives  too  late  at 
Yarennes  with  the  Royal-Alle- 
mand,  181 ;  proclamation  of,  243. 

Cabanis,  Mirabeau's  doctor,  95. 

Campan,  Madame,  anecdote  of  the 
Queen,  229;  her  account  of  the 
King's  dismay  after  accepting 
the  new  Constitution,  258. 

Cassagnac,  Granier  de,  quoted,  282. 

Chalons-sur-Marne,  the  royalist 
sympathies  of  the  people  of,  186. 

Chatelet,  Achille  de,  address  of,  to 
the  people,  238. 

Choiseul,  Duke  de,  failure  of,  to 
escort  the  King,  153;  parleys 
with  the  populace  at  Yarennes, 
171. 

Chronique  de  Paris,  the,  on  the 
departure  of  the  King's  aunts, 
83. 

Coblenz,  the  headquarters  of  the 
e'migre's,  244;  manifestations  at, 
247. 

Conde',  Prince  de,  scheming  to  ex- 
cite foreign  interference,  248. 

Constitution  of  September,  1791, 
acceptance  of,  253  et  seq. ;  pro- 
claimed, 259 ;  its  result,  262. 

Daraas,  Count  Charles  de,  his  ac- 
count of  the  King's  journey,  15(j; 
prevented  from  following  the 
King,  157 ;  wishes  to  get  the  King 

291 


292 


INDEX. 


away  from  Varennes  by   force,. 
172. 

Dampierre,  Marquis  de,  massacre 
of,  184. 

Danton,  invective  of,  against  La- 
fayette, 148. 

Dauphin,  the,  presented  to  the 
National  Assembly,  15;  apart- 
ments of,  in  the  Tuileries,  16;  his 
grace  and  simple  ways,  38,  115, 
117 ;  dressed  as  a  girl  for  the 
flight  from  Paris,  138;  departure 
of,  with  Madame  Royale,  139;  in- 
cident of,  on  the  return  to  Paris, 
195 ;  carried  into  the  Tuileries  by 
a  National  Guard,  216;  his  fright- 
ful dream,  222. 

Deslou,  M.,  plans  an  attack  to  save 
the  King  at  Varennes,  174. 

Desmoulins,  Camille,  on  the  Feast 
of  the  Federation,  60;  on  Mira- 
beau,  101;  extract  from  the  jour- 
nal of,  on  the  flight  of  the  King, 
147 ;  extracts  from  his  journal, 
217  et  seq. ;  on  the  journalist  of 
the  time,  232;  on  Lafayette,  233. 

Drouet,  recognizes  the  King,  155; 
arrives  at  Varennes  before  the 
King,  and  sets  an  ambush  for 
him,  162. 

Elisabeth,  Madame,  letters  of,  to  the 
Abbe  de  Lubersac,  6,  228;  mar- 
ket-women climb  into  her  apart- 
ment, 7;  letter  of,  to  the  Mar- 
quise de  Bombelles,  concerning 
the  execution  of  De  Favras,  29; 
at  Saint  Cloud,  43;  determined 
to  obey  the  voice  of  her  con- 
science in  the  matter  of  the 
clergy,  108,  121 ;  letter  of,  on  the 
subject  to  Madame  de  Raige- 
court,  109,  110;  letter  of,  on  the 
King's  attempt  to  go  to  Saint 
Cloud,  117,  122;  calmness  of, 
before  the  flight,  134;  Petion's 
account  of  her,  200 ;  letters  of,  to 
Madame  de  Bombelles,  223,  250, 
266,  267,  270;  to  the  Count  de 


Provence,  227;  to  Madame  de 
Riiigecourt,  227 ;  to  the  Comte 
d'Artois,  271. 

Elliot,  Mrs.,  on  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
278,  281. 

:^migres,  the  flight  of,  242;  at  Cob- 
lentz,  244. 

Emigration  of  the  nobles,  the,  242 
et  seq. 

Escars,  M.  d',  his  account  of  the 
ball  of  the  Cardinal  Prince- 
Bishop  of  Passau,  247. 

Favras,  M.  de,  his  character  and 
the  scheme  for  carrying  off  the 
King,  26 ;  execution  of,  28. 

Favras,  Madame  de,  at  the  public 
dinner  of  the  King,  31. 

Federation,  the  Festival  of  the,  58 
et  seq. ;  preparations  for,  60;  the 
procession  of,  62 ;  scenes  at,  63 ; 
banquet  at  La  Muette,  67 ;  Fete 
of  the,  238. 

Ferrieres,  Marquis  de,  extract  from 
his  Memoirs,  218. 

Ferseu,  Count  de,  aids  the  royal 
family  to  escape,  128 ;  leaves  the 
royal  family  at  Bondy  and  re- 
turns to  Paris,  143. 

Flight  of  the  King,  137  et  seq. ;  in- 
cidents of  the  journey,  150  et  seq. 

Frebeau,  M.,  President  of  the  As- 
sembly, speech  of,  before  the 
King,  13;  offers  the  respects  of 
the  Assembly  to  the  Queen,  15. 

Frederick  William  II.  at  Pilnitz, 
248. 

Goguelat,  M.  de,  fails  to  escort  the 
King  and  changes  the  programme 
at  Varennes,  160. 

Guilhermy,  M.  de,  his  act  of  cour- 
tesy to  the  King,  215. 

Gustavus  in.  of  Sweden,  the  hero 
of  the  emigre's,  244;  holds  his 
court  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  245. 

Jacobins,  the,  insult  the  aristocrats, 
20. 


INDEX. 


293 


Knights  of  the  Poniard,  the  sup- 
posed conspiracy  of,  90. 

Korff,  Baroness  de,  passports  for, 
given  to  the  royal  family,  129. 

Lafayette  gives  the  signal  for  the 
oath  at  the  Festival  of  the  Fede- 
ration, 65;  disperses  the  rioters 
in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries, 
86;  disperses  the  rioters  at  Vin- 
cenues,  88 ;  orders  the  nobles  to 
lay  down  their  arms,  90;  on  the 
side  of  the  priests  who  take  the 
oath,  106;  attempts  in  vain  to 
overcome  the  resistance  of  the 
National  Guard  to  the  King's 
departure,  116;  takes .  measures 
to  pursue  the  fugitives,  146 ;  op- 
poses the  manifestation  for  a  new 
king,  240. 

Lafayette,  Madame  de,  attachment 
of  to  the  Catholic  cause,  106. 

Lagache  pursues  Drouet,  155. 

Lamartine,  his  mot  concerning 
Mirabeau  and  Barnave,  191 ;  con- 
cerning Marie  Antoinette,  215; 
remark  of,  concerning  Louis 
XVL,  251. 

Lamballe,  Princess  de,  goes  to  the 
Queen, 6;  her  mission  to  England, 
285 ;  makes  her  will  and  returns 
to  France,  286. 

Leopold,  Emperor  of  Austria,  will- 
ingness of,  to  serve  the  King, 
125;  at  Pilnitz,  248. 

Louis  XVI.  returns  to  the  Tuileries, 
1 ;  always  an  optimist,  5,  10,  17, 
43 ;  letter  of,  to  the  Assembly,  10; 
apartments  of,  in  the  Tuileries, 
12;  National  Assembly  intro- 
duced to,  12;  his  reply,  13;  his 
pious  advice  to  his  daughter  on 
her  first  communion,  36 ;  at  Saint 
Cloud,  41 ;  oath  of,  at  the  Festival 
of  the  Federation,  66;  a  breach 
in  the  ranks  of  his  adherents, 
79 ;  too  weak  to  approve  or  dis- 
avow emigration,  SO;  in  secret 
relations  with  it,  80;  does  not 


oppose  the  departure  of  his 
aunts,  81 ;  orders  the  dispersal 
of  the  rioters  in  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries,  86 ;  but  the  shadow 
of  a  King,  87;  in  distress,  89;  his 
remorse  because  of  his  sanction 
to  the  Civil  Constitution  of  the 
clergy,  104;  receives  a  letter 
from  the  Pope,  110;  his  experi- 
ences during  Holy  Week,  1791, 
112  et  seq. ;  attempts  to  go  to 
Saint  Cloud,  114;  the  National 
Guards  prevent  his  departure, 
116;  dismisses  his  most  faithful 
adherents,  117  ;  forced  to  be 
present  at  a  Mass  said  by  a  rev- 
olutionary priest,  118;  his  du- 
plicity, 119  et  seq. ;  resolves 
upon  flight,  122  et  seq. ;  under 
constant  surveillance,  123 ;  strat- 
agems of,  124 ;  his  plan  of  escape, 
125;  gives  INI.  de  Valery  direc- 
tions as  to  the  route,  132;  takes 
leave  of  the  Count  of  Provence, 
135;  flight  of  the  royal  family 
from  Paris,  137  et  seq. ;  disguises 
himself,  139;  his  flight  discov- 
ered, 144 ;  proclamation  of,  read 
to  the  Assembly,  145;  incidents 
of  the  journey,  150  et  seq. ;  rec- 
ognized by  Drouet,  155;  arrival 
at  Varennes,  159;  miscarriage 
there,  160  et  seq. ;  arrest  of,  165 ; 
a  prisoner  in  the  house  of  M. 
Sauce,  167 :  temporizes  and  hesi- 
tates, 168 ;  speech  of,  to  the  people 
of  Varennes,  169 ;  the  decree  for 
his  arrest  arrives,  176;  decides 
to  yield,  178:  his  return  to  Paris, 
183  Pt  seq.;  conduct  of  the  coun- 
try people  towards,  184;  extreme 
painfulness  of  the  journey,  185; 
met  at  Chateau-sur-Marne  by 
the  National  Guard  who  force 
him  to  continue,  187;  his  pro- 
posal to  the  three  body-guards 
at  INIeaux  and  their  heroic  reply, 
206;  his  return  to  Paris.  210  et 
seq.;    decree   of   the   Assembly 


294 


INDEX. 


suspending  the  exercise  of  his 
functions,  219;  convinces  him- 
self that  he  is  a  prisoner,  222; 
the  life  of  Charles  I.  his  favorite 
reading,  227 ;  caricatured  by  the 
press,  234;  the  rigors  of  his  cap- 
tivity diminish,  255 ;  receives 
the  Constitutional  Act,  255;  ac- 
cepts it,  256;  his  dismay  there- 
after, 258 ;  present  at  the  closing 
session  of  the  Assembly,  260; 
distrusted  by  the  Jacobins,  262; 
the  Duke  of  Orleans  has  an  in- 
terview with,  273. 

Louis,  the  Abbe,  goes  to  Brussels 
to  urge  moderation  upon  the 
emigres,  254. 

Louis-Philippe,  foreign  aid  invoked 
by,  252. 

Marat,  protests  against  the  King's 
duplicity,  120. 

Marck,  Count  de  la,  correspond- 
ence between,  and  Mirabeau,  48; 
his  intimacy  with  Mirabeau,  49. 

Marie  Antoinette  in  the  Tuileries, 
2 ;  shows  herself  to  the  crowd,  3 ; 
remains  in  her  own  apartment, 
6;  visited  by  mock  delegates,  7; 
advised  by  Augeard  to  depart  in 
disguise,  8 ;  refuses  to  leave  the 
King,  9;  receives  the  visit  of 
the  National  Assembly,  14;  her 
apartments  in  the  Tuileries,  16; 
afflicted  by  the  execution  of  de 
Favras,  30 ;  sends  money  to  Ma- 
dame de  Favras,  31 ;  anguish  of, 
33 ;  as  a  mother,  35 ;  her  children, 
36  et  seq.;  at  Saint  Cloud,  41; 
her  fearful  presentiments,  44, 46 ; 
letter  of,  to  the  Duchess  de  Po- 
lignac,  45 ;  describes  her  last  in- 
terview with  her  father,  Francis 
I.,  46;  interview  of,  with  Mira- 
beau, 48  et  seq. ;  her  decision  to 
take  counsel  with  him,  52;  the 
secret  interview  between,  and 
Mirabeau,  55;  at  the  Festival  of 
the  Federation,  66,  68;  her  plans 


to  escape,  124  et  seq.;  Count  dg 
Fersen  a  favorite  of,  128;  reas- 
sured by  M.  de  Valory  as  to  the 
rumors  concerning  the  flight,  132 ; 
informs  her  daughter  of  the 
event,  134 ;  her  jmrting  with  the 
Count  of  Provence,  135;  dresses 
her  children  for  the  flight,  137; 
loses  her  way  and  delays  the  de- 
parture, 144;  her  auger  at  the 
decree  for  the  arrest  of  the  royal 
family,  177 ;  her  influence  over 
Barnave,  190;  defends  her  hus- 
band's cause  with  Petion,  203; 
testifies  her  gratitude  to  the  three 
body-guards,  207 ;  her  lofty  cour- 
age, 212 ;  refuses  the  arm  of  the 
Vicomte  de  Noailles,  215;  her 
anxiety  for  the  Dauphin,  216; 
the  espionage  of  her  attendant, 
223;  under  the  closest  surveil- 
lance, 224 ;  devotes  herself  to  the 
education  of  her  children,  229; 
her  hair  whitened  by  grief,  229 ; 
fears  the  foreign  invasion,  250; 
correspondence  of,  with  Count 
Mercy-Argenteau,  253,  254,  256; 
comprehends  the  situation,  254; 
her  appearance  in  public  still  pro- 
duces a  great  effect,  264;  her 
courage  in  attending  the  theatre, 
205 ;  scene  at  the  Italiens  over 
her,  269 ;  saddened  by  the  faith- 
lessness of  the  ladies  of  her  court, 
284 ;  urges  the  Princess  de  Lam- 
balle  not  to  return  to  France,  287. 

Menon,  Count  de,  ridicules  the  dis- 
cussion over  the  King's  aunts, 
85. 

Mirabeau,  secret  interviews  of, 
with  Marie  Antoinette  at  Saint 
Cloud,  48  et  seq. ;  at  bottom  aris- 
tocratic, 49;  his  career,  50;  the 
conditions  of  his  allegiance,  52 ; 
first  letter  of,  to  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, 52;  his  secret  interview 
with  the  Queen,  55;  denies  the 
reality  of  the  interview  at  Saint 
Cloud,    71;    his    ideal,    72;    his 


INDEX. 


295 


double  life,  73,  77;  his  opinion  of 
Paris,  74 ;  of  the  National  Guard, 
75;  his  advice  to  the  court,  76; 
advises  the  Assembly  to  allow 
the  departure  of  the  King's  aunts, 
85 ;  resists  the  passage  of  the  law 
against  emigration,  88;  lines  of, 
on  the  death  of  a  friend,  92; 
"  prodigal  of  life,"  92 ;  his  power 
over  the  Assembly,  94;  taken 
sick,  95;  scenes  at  his  deathbed, 
95  et  seq. ;  his  death,  97 ;  mourn- 
ing for  him,  and  his  grandiose 
funeral,  97  ct  seq.  ,*  position  of, 
with  regard  to  the  clergy  and  the 
Constitution,  107 ;  letter  of,  to  de 
la  Marck  on  the  subject,  107 ;  La- 
martine's  mot  concerning,  191. 

Mlrabeau,  The,  Socialist  journal, 
72. 

Moniteur,  the,  publishes  the  decla- 
ration of  a  National  Guard,  90. 

Narbonne,  M.  de,  pleads  the  cause 
of  the  King's  aunts,  84. 

National  Assembly  discuss  the  de- 
parture of  the  King's  aunts,  84 ; 
take  Mirabeau's  advice  and  allow 
them  to  depart,  85. 

Noailles,  Vicomte  de,  offers  his  arm  , 
to  Marie  Antoinette,  215. 

Orleanist  conspiracies,  not  the 
work  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
279. 

Orleans,  the  Duke  of,  arrives  in 
Paris,  59;  has  an  interview  with 
the  King,  273;  his  subsequent 
treatment  at  the  King's  levee, 
274;  becomes  implacable,  275; 
his  character  and  destiny,  270 
et  seq. 

Paris,  return  of  the  royal  family 
to,  1;  at  the  close  of  1789,  18; 
aspects  of  the  Revolution  in,  19, 
21,  the  court  not  prominent  in, 
24;  occupied  with  the  religious 
question,  103;  scenes  in,  after  the 


flight  of  the  royal  family,  147; 
aspect  of,  on  the  return  of  the 
royal  family,  210  et  seq. ;  during 
the  suspension  of  royalty,  231  et 
seq. 

Petion,  sent  by  the  National  As- 
sembly as  commissioner  to  meet 
Louis  XVI.,  188;  his  attitude 
towards  the  royal  party,  198 ;  his 
character,  199;  his  account  of 
the  journey,  199  et  seq. ;  his  fate, 
204;  crowned  by  the  crowd,  261. 

Pilnitz,  the  declaration  of,  248. 

Press  in  Paris,  furious  character 
of,  233. 

Priests  compelled  to  swear  fidelity 
to  the  new  Constitution,  105. 

Provence,  Count  of,  his  last  meet- 
ing with  the  King,  134 ;  seeks  to 
form  a  European  Coalition,  244, 
248. 

Regnard,  M.,  entertains  the  royal 
family,  205. 

Revolution,  aspects  of,  in  Paris,  19. 

Robespierre,  the  idol  of  the  day, 
235;  crowned  by  the  crowd,  261. 

Romeuf,  M.  de,  and  M.  Baillon  ar- 
rive in  Varennes  with  the  decree 
for  the  arrest  of  the  royal  family, 
176;  their  interview  with  the 
King  and  Queen,  1T7. 

Royale,  Madame,  birth  of,  35;  her 
first  communion,  36,  38;  her 
father's  pious  advice,  36;  her 
account  of  events  preceding  the 
flight,  133. 

Sabbats  Jacobites,  the,  on  the  de- 
parture of  the  King's  aunts,  83. 

Saint  Cloud,  the  royal  family  at, 
41,47. 

Saint  Prix,  courteous  attention  of, 
to  the  King,  while  guard,  226. 

Sauce,  M.,  offers  his  house  to  the 
royal  fugitives  after  the  arrest, 
165. 

Sc'gur,  Count  de,  describes  the  va- 
rious aspects  of  Paris,  23. 


296 


INDEX, 


Talleyrand,  says  mass  at  the  Festi- 
val of  the  Federation,  G4,  69; 
takes  the  oath  to  the  new  Con- 
stitution, 105. 

Theatins,  church  of  the,  entrance 
to,  prevented  by  the  people,  113. 

Theatre  Fran9ais,  revolutionary 
scenes  at,  20;  at  the  funeral  of 
Voltaire,  237. 

Tuileries,  condition  of,  on  the  re- 
turn of  the  royal  family  to,  1; 
grounds  of,  thronged  by  the  pop- 
ulace, 3;  made  to  resemble  the 
palace  of  Versailles,  11. 


Valory,  M.  de,  ascertains  the  state 
of  the  public  mind  as  to  rumors 
of  the  flight,  131 ;  receives  the 
King's  order,  132. 

Varennes,  journey,  the,  122  et 
seq.;  situation  of,  159;  arrest  of 
the  royal  family  at,  165;  tumult 
in,  170. 

Victoire,  Madame,  the  King's  aunt, 
81  et  seq. 

Vincennes,  rioters  at,  88. 

Voltaire,  funeral  of,  236. 


Ttpographt  by  J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 
Presswork  bt  Bkrwick  &  Smith,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


FAMOUS    WOMEN    OF    THE 
FRENCH    COURT. 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS. 


WITHIN  the  past  few  years  M.  Irnbert  de  Saint- Amand 
has  written  a  series  of  volumes  which  have  made 
him  one  of  the  most  popular  authors  of  France.  Each  has 
for  its  nucleus  some  portion  of  the  life  of  one  of  the  eminent 
women  who  have  presided  over  or  figured  at  the  French 
court,  either  at  Versailles  or  the  Tuileries.  But  though  thus 
largely  biographical  and  possessing  the  interest  inseparable 
from  personality,  the  volumes  are  equally  pictures  of  the 
times  they  describe.  He  is  himself  saturated  with  the  litera- 
ture and  history  of  the  period,  and  what  mainly  distinguishes 
his  books  is  the  fact  that  they  are  in  considerable  part  made 
up  of  contemporary  letters  and  memoirs,  so  that  the  reader 
hears  the  characters  themselves  speak,  and  is  brought  into 
the  closest  imaginary  contact  with  them.  Moreover,  the 
complexion  of  the  mosaic  thus  cleverly  mortised  is  familiar 
rather  than  heroic.  The  historian  is  not  above  gossip  in 
its  good  sense,  and  the  way  in  which  the  life  of  the  time 
and  of  its  distinguished  personages  is  depicted  is  extremely 
intimate  as  well  as  vivid  and  truthful. 

The  ten  volumes  now  issued  and  in  press  relate  to  Marie 
Antoinette,  Josephine  and  Marie  Louise.  They  give  a  vivid 
representation  of  the  momentous  times  immediately  before, 
during  and  after  the  epoch  of  the  Revolution.  Probably  no 
times  in  any  country  were  ever  so  picturesque,  so  crowded 
with  events,  and  so  peopled  with  striking  characters.  The 
characteristics  of  the  old  regime  and  the  events  of  the  early 


FAMOUS    WOMEN  OF    THE  FRENCH  COURT. 


years  of  the  Revolution  are  grouped  effectively  around  the 
sympathetic  figure  of  Louis  Sixteenth's  queen.  In  the  first 
two  books  in  which  she  figures,  Josephine  is  taken  as  the 
center  of  the  new  society  that  issued  from  the  disorganization 
wrought  by  the  Revoiution,  and  the  third  describes  the 
beginning  of  the  Imperial  epoch.  In  "The  Happy  Days 
of  the  Empress  Marie  Louise,"  we  are  led  behind  tbe 
scenes,  and  shown  the  domestic  life  as  well  as  the  splendid 
court  pomp  of  the  world's  Conqueror  at  the  acme  of  his 
career — a  most  dramatic  contrast  v/ith  the  picture  drawn 
in  the  concluding  three  volumes,  which  describe  the  "  De- 
cadence of  the  Empire  "  owing  to  the  Russian  campaign, 
the  "Invasion  of  i8i4"and  the  "Return  from  Elba  and 
the  Hundred   Days." 


FAMOUS  WOMEN   OF  THE    FRENCH   COURT. 

From  the  French  of  Imbert  de  Saint-Amand. 

Each  luith  Portrait,  1 2mo,  S^-SJ. 

Three  Volumes  on  Marie  Antoinette, 
marie  antoinette  and  the  end  of  the  old  regime, 
marie  antoinette  at  the  tuileries. 
marie  antoinette  and  the  downfall  of  royalty. 

Three  Volumes  on  the  Empress  Josephine, 
citizeness  bonaparte, 
the  wife  of  the  first  consul. 
the  court  of  the  empress  josephine. 

Four  Volumes  on  the  Empress  Marie  Louise. 

THE  happy    DAYS  OF   MARIE   LOUISE. 

MARIE  LOUISE  AND  THE  DECADENCE  OF   THE   EMPIRE. 

MARIE   LOUISE  AND  THE   INVASION    OF    1814. 

MARIE  LOUISE,  THE   RETURN   FROM   ELBA  AND  THE   HUNDRED  DAYS. 


FAMOUS    WOMEN  OF   THE  FRENCH  COURT. 


"  In  these  translations  of  this  interesting  series  of  sketches,  we  have 
found  an  uttexpected  amount  of  pleasure  and  profit.  The  author  cites 
for  us  passages  from  forgotten  diaries,  hitherto  unearthed  letters,  extracts 
from  public  proceedings,  and  the  like,  and  contrives  to  combine  a?id  arrange 
his  material  so  as  to  fuake  a  great  many  very  vivid  and  pleasing  pictures. 
Nor  is  this  all.  The  material  he  lays  before  us  is  of  real  value,  and 
much,  if  not  most  of  it,  must  be  unknown  save  to  the  special  students  of 
the  period.  We  can,  therefore,  cordially  commend  these  books  to  the 
attention  of  our  readers.  They  will  find  them  attractive  in  their  arrange- 
ment, never  dull,  with  mtcch  variety  of  sccfte  and  incident,  and  admir- 
ably translated." — The  Nation,  of  December  ig,  i8go. 

Marie  Antoinette  and  the  End  of  the  Old  Regime. 

The  years  immediately  preceding  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution 
comprise  the  epoch  treated  under  this  title,  which  aptly  characterizes  the 
passing  away  of  the  old  order,  before  the  tremendous  social  as  well  as 
political  upheaval  of  the  Revolution. 

Marie  Antoinette  at  the  Tuileries, 

The  vicissitudes  of  the  Royal  Family,  and  incidentally  the  political 
history  of  the  time,  from  the  forcible  removal  from  Versailles  in  1789  to 
the  end  of  1791,  including  the  unfortunate  attempt  at  flight  and  the 
arrest  at  Varennes  are  the  subject  of  this  book. 

Mane  Antoinette  ana  the  Downfall  of  Royalty, 

Continuing  the  story  of  the  preceding  volume,  the  author  here  nar- 
rates the  turbulent  and  terrible  scenes  of  the  beginning  of  the  Terror 
and  closes  with  the  abolition  of  royalty,  the  declaration  of  the  Republic 
and  the  confinement  of  the  Royal  Family  in  the  Temple. 


Citizeness  Bonaparte, 

The  period  during  which  Josephine  was  called  "Citizeness  Bona- 
parte "  is  the  romantic  and  eventful  one  beginning  with  her  marriage, 
comprising  the  first  Italian  campaign  and  the  Eg>'ptian  Expedition,  and 
ending  with  the  coup  d'etat  of  Brumaire. 


FAMOUS    WOMEN  OF   THE  FRENCH  COURT. 

The  Wife  of  the  First  Consul, 

■^  As  wife  of  the  First  Consul,  Josephine  presided  over  the  brilliant 
society  which  issued  from  the  social  chaos  of  the  Revolution  and  which, 
together  with  striking  portraits  of  its  principal  figures,  is  here  vividly 
described. 

The  Court  of  the  Empress  Josephine, 

The  events  which  took  place  between  the  assumption  by  Napoleon 
of  the  imperial  title  and  the  end  of  1807,  including  the  magnificent 
coronation  ceremonies  at  Paris  and  at  Milan  and  the  wonderful  campaign 
of  Austerlitz  are  here  described,  as  well  as  the  daily  life  and  surroundings 
of  Josephine  at  the  summit  of  her  career. 

The  Happy  Days  of  the  Empress  Marie  Louise, 

The  happiest  part  of  Marie  Louise's  career  as  Empress  of  the 
French,  dating  from  her  marriage^  the  festivities  of  which  were  cele- 
brated with  unexampled  splendor,  to  the  departure  of  the  Grand  Army 
for  the  disastrous  Russian  campaign,  is  the  subject  of  this  book. 

Marie  Louise  and  the  Decadence  of  the  Empire, 

The  period  covered  in  this  volume  is  the  intensely  dramatic  decline 
of  the  French  empire  from  the  Russian  campaign,  when  Marie  Louise 
"had  the  world  at  her  feet,"  to  the  desperate  campaign  of  1814  which 
concluded  her  brief  but  brilliant  reign. 

Marie  Louise  and  the  Invasion  of  1814, 

This  volume  takes  the  reader  from  the  beginning  of  1814  to 
Napoleon's  second  abdication  and  departure  for  Elba.  In  a  military 
point  of  view  this  campaign,  his  first  fought  on  French  soil  and  resulting 
in  his  downfall  and  that  of  his  dynasty,  ranks,  nevertheless,  among  his 
ablest,  and  the  narrative  of  it  is,  perhaps,  the  most  intensely  interesting, 
the  variations  of  fortune  being  so  rapid  and  so  momentous. 

Marie  Louise,  the  Return  from  Elba  and  the  Hundred  Days, 

The  final  scenes  of  the  Napoleonic  drama  are  here  unfolded — the 
imprisoned  conqueror's  life  at  Elba,  his  romantic  escape  and  return  to 
France,  his  almost  miraculous  resumption  of  power,  the  preparations  for 
the  last  struggle  and  the  climax  of  Waterloo  and  the  definite  restoration 
of  Louis  XVIII,  closing  the  era  begun  in  1789. 


FAMOUS   WOMEN  OF   THE  FRENCH  COURT. 


CRITICAL  NOTICES. 


*'  A  delightfully  gossippy  series." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  This  volume  ['  Marie  Louise  and  the  Decadence  of  the  Empire'] 
is  as  fascinating  as  any  in  the  series,  and  the  whole  can  be  read  with 
great  profit  and  enjoyment." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  Readers  of  the  author's  preceding  volumes  will  not  need  to  be 
told  that  the  present  one  is  full  of  charm  and  interest,  brilliant  descrip- 
tion, and  strong  and  clear  historical  sketches." — JVe7v  York  Tribune. 

"The  volumes  are  even  more  pictures  of  the  times  than  of  the 
unhappy  occupants  of  the  French  throne.  The  style  is  clear  and  familiar, 
and  the  smaller  courts  of  the  period,  the  gossip  of  the  oourt  and  the 
course  of  history,  give  interest  other  than  biographical  to  the  work." — 
Baltimore  Sun. 

"  M.  de  Saint-Amand  makes  the  great  personages  of  whom  he  writes 
very  human.  In  this  last  volume  he  has  brought  to  light  much  new 
material  regarding  the  diplomatic  relations  between  Napoleon  and  the 
Austrian  court,  and  throughout  the  series  he  presents,  with  a  wealth  of 
detail,  the  ceremonious  and  private  life  of  the  courts." — San  Francisco 
Argonaut. 

"The  sketches,  like  the  times  to  which  they  relate,  are  immensely 
dramatic.  M.  Saint-Amand  writes  with  a  vivid  pen.  He  has  filled 
himself  with  the  history  and  the  life  of  the  times,  and  possesses  the  art 
of  making  them  live  in  his  pages.  His  books  are  capital  reading,  and 
remain  as  vivacious  as  idiomatic,  and  as  pointed  in  the  translation  as  in 
the  original  French." — The  Independent. 

"  The  last  volume  of  the  highly  interesting  series  is  characterized 
by  all  that  remarkable  attractiveness  of  description,  historical  and  per- 
sonal, that  has  made  the  former  volumes  of  the  series-  so  popular. 
M.  de  Saint-Amand's  pictures  of  court  life  and  of  the  brilliant  men  and 
women  that  composed  it,  make  the  whole  read  with  a  freshness  that  is  as 
fascinatiig  as  it  is  instructive." — Boston  Home  j0Hmal. 


FAMOUS    WOMEN  OF   THE  FRENCH  COURT. 

*'  M.  de  Saint-Amand's  volumes  are  inspired  with  such  brightness, 
knowledge,  and  appreciation,  that  their  value  as  studies  in  a  great 
historical  epoch  requires  acknowledgement.  Though  written  mainly  to 
entertain  in  a  wholesome  way,  they  also  instruct  the  reader  and  give 
him  larger  views.  That  they  have  not  before  been  translated  for  publi- 
cation here  is  a  little  singular.  Now,  that  their  time  has  come,  people 
should  receive  them  gratefully  while  they  read  them  with  the  attention 
they  invite  and  deserve." — N,   V.  Times. 

"These  volumes  give  animated  pictures,  romantic  in  coloring, 
intimate  in  detail,  and  entertaining  from  beginning  to  end.  To  the 
student  of  history  they  furnish  the  more  charming  details  of  gossip  and 
court  life  which  he  has  not  found  in  his  musty  tomes  ;  while  in  the  novice 
they  must  be  the  lode-stone  leading  to  more  minute  research.  The  series 
is  of  more  than  transient  value  in  that  it  teaches  the  facts  of  history 
through  the  medium  of  anecdote,  description,  and  pen  portraits  ;  this 
treatment  having  none  of  the  dryness  of  history  per  se,  but  rather  the 
brilliancy  of  romance." — Boston  Times. 

"  The  central  figure  of  the  lovely  Josephine  attracts  sympathy  and 
admiration  as  does  hardly  one  other  historical  character.  We  have 
abundance  of  gossip  of  the  less  harmful  kind,  spirited  portraits  of  men 
and  women  of  note,  glimpses  here  and  there  of  the  under-current  of 
ambition  and  anxiety  that  lay  beneath  the  brilliant  court  life,  anecdotes 
in  abundance,  and  altogether  a  bustling,  animated,  splendidly  shifting 
panorama  of  life  in  the  First  Empire.  No  such  revelation  of  the  private 
life  of  Napoleon  and  Josephine  has  hitherto  been  given  to  the  world  as 
in  *  The  Court  of  the  Empress  Josephine.'  It  is  the  autho-'<;  master- 
piece."— Christian  Union. 


Fer  sal}  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price,  hy 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS, 
743-745   Broadway,         -  -  -  -         -         New  York. 


The  First  American  Edition 


MEMOIRS  OF 

NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE 

By  LOUIS  ANTOINE  FAUVELET  DE  BOURRIENNE 

His  Private  Secretary 
With  34  Full-page  Portraits  and  Other  Illustrations 

Edited   by   Col.  R.  W.    PHIPPS.      New   and   Revised   Edition 


The  Set,  4  Vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  in  a  Box,  $5.00 

Characteristic  bindings  in  Half  Morocco  and  Half  Calf,  specially  designed 

for  this  work,  can  no^A^  be  supplied 
The  Set,  4  Vols.,  in   a  box,   Half  Morocco,  gilt  top,  .        .        .  $8.00 

"  •'  "  Half  Calf,  "  ...  10.00 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,  Publishers 

Ni:\V   YORK 


FOR  sixty  years  Bourrienne's  "Memoirs  of  Napoleon" 
has  been  a  standard  authority  to  which  every  one 
has  turned  for  a  graphic,  entertaining  picture  of 
the  man  as  he  appeared  to  his  intimate  friend  and  Secre- 
tary. Bourrienne,  who  had  been  the  friend  and  com- 
panion of  Napoleon  at  school,  became  his  Secretary  in 
1797  and  remained  in  this  confidential  position  till  1802, 
His  *' Memoirs"  has  heretofore  been  accessible  only  in 
the  English  editions.  It  is  now  proposed  to  publish 
immediately  in  a  popular  Library  Edition,  in  four  i2mo 
volumes,  an  exact  reprint  of  the  latest  English  edition. 
This  American  edition  will  contain  the  thirty-four  por- 
traits and  other  illustrations  of  the  original,  together  with 
all  the  other  features  that  give  distinction  to  the  work — 
the  chronology  of  Napoleon's  life,  the  prefaces   to  the 


BOURRIENNE'S    ''NAPOLEON: 


several  editions,  the  author's  introduction,  and  the  addi- 
tional matter  which  supplements  Bourrienne's  work,  an 
account  of  the  important  events  of  the  Hundred  Days, 
of  Napoleon's  surrender  to  the  English,  and  of  his  resi- 
dence and  death  at  St.  Helena,  with  anecdotes  and  illus- 
trative extracts  from  contemporary  Memoirs.  The  per- 
sonality of  one  of  the  greatest  figures  in  history  is  placed 
before  the  reader  with  remarkable  fidelity  and  dramatic 
power  by  one  who  was  the  Emperor's  confidant  and  the 
sharer  of  his  thoughts  and  fortunes.  The  picture  of  the 
man  Napoleon  is  of  fascinating  interest.  Besides  this, 
the  book  is  full  of  the  most  interesting  anecdotes,  hon 
mots^  character  sketches,  dramatic  incidents,  and  the 
gossip  of  court  and  camp  at  one  of  the  most  stirring 
epochs  of  history,  taken  from  contemporary  Memoirs  and 
incorporated  in  the  work  by  the  editors  of  the  different 
editions. 


List  of  Portraits,  Etc, 


NAPOLEON  I. 

LETITIA  RAMOLINO 

THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPH- 
INE 

EUGENE  BEAUHARNAIS 

GENERAL   KL^BER 

MARSHAL  LANNES 

TALLEYRAND 

GENERAL  DUROC 

MURAT,  KING  OF  NAPLES 

GENERAL  DESAIX 

GENERAL  MOREAU 

HORTENSE      BEAUHAR- 
NAIS 

THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPH- 
INE 

NAPOLEON  I. 


THE  DUC  D'ENGHIEN 

GENERAL  PICHEGRU 

MARSHAL  NEY 

CAULAINCOURT,  DUKE 
OF  VICENZA 

MARSHAL  DAVOUST 
CHARGE  OF  THE    CUIR- 
ASSIERS AT  EYLAU 
GENERAL  JUNOT 
MARSHAL  SOULT 

THE  EMPRESS  MARIA 
LOUISA 

GENERAL  LASALLE 

COLORED  MAP  SHOW- 
ING NAPOLEON'S  DO- 
MINION 

THE  EMPRESS  MARIA 
LOUISA 


MARSHAL  MASSENA 

MARSHAL  MACDONALD 

FAC-SIMILE  OF  THE  EM- 
PEROR'S ABDICATION 
IN   1814 

NAPOLEON  I. 

MARSHAL  SOUCHET 

THE  DUKE  OF  WELLING- 
TON 

PLANS  OF  BATTLE  OF 
WATERLOO 

MARSHAL  BLUCHER 

MARSHAL  GOUVION  ST. 
CyR 

MARSHAL  NEY 

THE  KING  OF  ROME 

GENERAL  BESSIERES 


■   >     -It  '  I"  i  ll 

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